\"Geck! Where\'s that bloody ale!\" bellowed the grumpy stump. Barely three feet, 5 inches he demised he was and he found this new set of winter clothing was already dragging its trim just low enough across the hard-packed snow for him to trip over himself. Bloody Ylian tailor, he thought. Winter clothing indeed! It took three agonizing days for the tailor to make him this \"drape\".
\"It\'s bloody one-and-a-half layers thick it is! That man wouldn\'t know how to make a proper Seleck hide parka if his life depended on it! Well guess what ya big git, my life depends on it! ... Geck! Where\'s that bloody ale!\" The grumpy stump shifted his weight on his other leg to allow some circulation flow for the other half of his body. The mountain he was traversing was supposed to be clear of any \'mildly violent\' blizzards for the next week in his mind. Mildly violent indeed! The idea was to get deep enough into the mountain range for a bit of surveying. To him it felt like he had a good week and a half, eleven days shy he pecked, to survey a suitable area for a mining encampment. \"Suitable\" would hopefully mean some sort of valley inside the mountain range where there was less snow. It was day four and already he had absolutely no idea where he was going.
\"Geck!\"
Jiblin, the name given by his dearly departed grandmother, hobbled on his grumpy stump while trying to pry something out of the Seleck mule beside him. The Seleck mule seemed happy before to wander the mountains with this complete stranger, it sniffed, embodied in a thick oily hide his species had evolved for conditions just like this. However it was not happy to have almost two hundred stones worth of useless bulk sagging on his sides. Jiblin gobbled something about the three P\'s, \"Pots, Pans, and Picks!\" when he threw the saddle bags on its back sometime ago. The Seleck mule had absolutely no idea what the grumpy stump was gibbering about. It took a few moments for it to gather its thoughts to determine it really did not care. Now that that was settled, it went back to a mental glaze of no thought. Thinking, it had debated to itself for many days, was just not worth the effort.
\"Aha!\" Jiblin tossed another fold of the saddle bag in front of him to snatch a furry waterskin in his hands. He could feel the warmth in the waterskin from the Seleck mule right through the gloves. Fumbling with his other hand he worked on the lip of the waterskin. With a small \"crack!\", the lip bent open and a small gush of pinkish liquid spattered on his face. Geck! The waterskin was too warm in the harrowingly cold weather! He should have known that.
With a bit of furry in his eyes he tossed the waterskin over his stout shoulder out of sight, to plummet down the mountain summit. A quick wipe of his face and he\'d let the rest cake on him. It was better off for him to keep going.
