Dwarves lounged on chairs, stoops, and wooden sidewalks of what used to be cafés and small shops for Little Aldon. Many of the dwarves were sharpening or polishing weapons, laughing and speaking together in their guttural language as they did so.
A large group of them, sprawled across a section of sidewalk, lifted their hands and called out in their language. The only thing Fieran recognized wasPippak.
Pip halted, turning toward the group with a grin. She spoke in dwarvish, gesturing at Fieran. He recognized his name in the jumble, but that was it.
Still, the guttural, deeper sounds of dwarvish coming from Pip was strangely startling. He’d known she was half dwarf, but until now he’d only heard her speak elvish or Escarlish. She was so comfortable in human spaces that he’d perhaps begun to see her as half-human like him.
But she was half-dwarf in the way he was half-human, and he shouldn’t let himself forget that. She moved more easily through three cultures than he did his two.
He should start learning dwarvish. If he was going to be with Pip, then he would need to be as comfortable with dwarven culture as she was with Escarlish.
Pip glanced up at Fieran, the twinkle in her dark eyes matching her grin. “Fieran, these are a bunch of my Detmuk cousins, distant cousins, and a few aunts and uncles.”
Aunts? Fieran eyed the group of dwarves again, this time actually picking out the female dwarves among the males. Everyone having a beard was going to take some getting used to.
“Hello.” Fieran waved back at the cluster of Detmuk dwarves, not sure what else to say. Perhaps he should have spoken in elvish instead of Escarlish? Did these dwarves know either? “Elontiri.”
One of the dwarves guffawed and punched another’s arm. The two of them shook with their raucous laughter, drawing the others in.
Pip rolled her eyes, huffed, and spoke in dwarvish again. With a flap of her hand, she tugged Fieran onward. “Apparently my uncles find it hilarious that I have the same taste in men as my mother.”
“Tall and elven?” Fieran wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know.
“Beardless and skinny.” Pip gave that huff again.
He wouldn’t have shaved, but he’d remembered what Pip had said to Pretty Face about how dwarves found a patchy, wimpy beard even more unimpressive than a lack of a beard.
“Perhaps I should have worn my swords.” It was what Dacha would have done. But it hadn’t occurred to Fieran that he might need to sport weaponry, besides his military sidearm in its holster at his hip, when meeting Pip’s parents. “I would have looked more imposing.”
“Only if you managed to keep up a hard look like the one your dacha wears.” Pip elbowed him again. “Your grin rather wrecks the look.”
Fieran couldn’t help but grin back. After a moment’s pause while they strode down the street, he tilted his head back toward the group of her Detmuk relatives. “I thought I had a lot of nosy relatives. Aunts and uncles, huh?”
“Well, they aren’t all my aunts and uncles, as in, my mother’s siblings.” Pip gave a shrug. “Detmuk is a clan as well as a mountain. I’m related to all of them, so they’re called aunts, uncles, and cousins, even though we’re related more distantly than immediate family.”
Fieran swung their clasped hands again. “Good thing I’m used to having a big, nosy family around.”
“That will certainly make your introduction to the Detmuk clan easier.” Pip shook her head, a frown briefly replacing her smile. “But let’s get through introducing you to my parents before we worry about meeting the rest of the clan.”
Good plan. Fieran tried to keep up his jaunty stroll, even as he and Pip approached Building 42.
This particular shop had a small, porch-like wooden awning over large front windows overlooking the sidewalk. Mak stood on the sidewalk with the brown-haired elf and female dwarf from the train station standing next to him.
Fieran drew in a deep breath, unable to hold his grin in place. This was it. Time to meet Pip’s parents. He forced his step to remain steady as he strode onto the sidewalk.
Beside him, Pip had gone back to vibrating with energy. Her voice squeaked slightly as she gestured between everyone. “Muka, Dacha, this is Fieran. Fieran, these are my parents.”
“Elontiri.” Fieran gave the traditional elven hand gesture of greeting, which involved artfully touching one’s hand to one’s mouth, then forehead.
“Elontiri.” Pip’s dacha returned the gesture. “I am Myrdin Detmuk-Inawenys.”
“Glorirgoulyn Detmuk-Inawenys.” Pip’s muka tapped her right fist over her heart.
That must be some kind of dwarven gesture, but Fieran didn’t know enough about dwarven culture to attempt to return it. He might do it wrong and instead make an offensive gesture.
Instead, he gave a nod of his head. Holding out his hand for a shake seemed too human for the moment. “Fieran Laesornysh.”
He could see the flicker in their eyes at his last name. Pip said she’d told them, but it would hit differently coming directly from him.
