"Da’ why do we have ta use this dusty ol’ boat? I like those ships better," Hatten had once said to his father.

Andren had looked down at his son and replied, "We own this boat, lad. I made it with me own two hands. It’s worth thirty of those blasted fancy pants vessels from the Boatsmiths’ factory. In day’s long past, their boats were the envy of all. But lately the Boatsmiths Union has been cutting corners, ye see. They don’t put ay heart and soul into what they do anymore, Hatten. And a boat without heart and soul is no boat I want to ride the sea in."

When Andren had passed beyond this life, to join the ancestors and the Gods that keep them, Hatten had inherited his father’s old boat. But even then, in his late twenties, Hatten envied the nicer looking boats from the Boatsmiths’ factory. They shined with luxury and seemed to glide across the water with ease. Everything about those boats screamed to Hatten, "BUY ME, YE DOLT!"

So, Hatten decided to sell his father’s handmade boat to Andren’s old fishing buddy, a crusty old bastard nicknamed Tack, due to the odd way he walked that resembled a sailboat coming about to find the wind. Tack had jumped at the chance to buy Andren’s old boat, as he knew the worth of a good vessel with heart and soul.

"Lad, are ye sure ’bout this? Yer father put his own heart and soul in this here boat. ’Tis a special thing," Tack had said before signing the bill of sale.

"Don’t ye want it, then?" Hatten had asked impatiently.

Tack had only shook his head and signed his name, buying the wooden fishing boat called At Long Last. Andren had never told Hatten why the vessel carried that name, and when asked, Tack wouldn’t say either. Hatten figured it was a boring story anyway, and had forgotten about the boat right after he sold it.

A month later, Hatten glided over the waves in a fancy new sloop. She cut through the sea like butter, so he had named the ship Blade, and had painted her silver. Finally, Hatten had felt as if he were just as good as everyone else in the dwarven fishing village Ungrim, which lay on the shore of the Sea of Nezra. He no longer felt embarrassed by the old wooden boat his father had used.

It wasn’t until the first rough waters of the season came upon the residents of Ungrim that Hatten learned how wrong he had been to sell At Long Last. Sea dwarves were used to nasty weather and the resulting choppy waters, and Hatten was no exception. But as he navigated the stormy sea, he could immediately tell a difference. Andren’s boat would have taken this weak storm as if it were nothing. Meanwhile, his new ship, Blade, was being tossed about like dwarflings with a ball.

Several hours into that fateful storm, Blade had struck something under the churning water, and Hatten had lost all control of the luxurious sloop. She went under in minutes, and Hatten was stranded in the stormy chaotic Sea of Nezra to die. He prayed to the ancestors and the Gods that kept them, and he begged for salvation.

"I just want ta be there for me boy, Yintal. I dun want the boy to grow up without his Da’," he had yelled to the sky. But the thunder and rain drowned out his cries just as the ocean was soon to drown the sea dwarf.

"Ye should’ve never been out this far on that shite sloop of yers," a familiar voice yelled to Hatten, and a rope landed in the water beside him. Looking for the source, he found Tack there, aboard At Long Last and looking as comfortable in the storm as he would in still waters. The old wooden boat with heart and soul had no problems in the rough sea.

On the ride back to land, Hatten had pleaded with Tack to sell him back the old fishing boat. "It was me own Da’s ship, Tack! I made a grave mistake sellin’ it ta ye, and I need it back."

"Nay, it’s no’ gonna happen, lad. Ye sold her, I bought her, she’s mine," Tack said stoically, no emotion peeking through that sea-worn visage.

Hatten had hung his head and worried himself ragged all the way home. He had no money for a new Boatsmith’s ship. Nor had he bought insurance on Blade from the local branch of the Queen’s bank. Without money, he wouldn’t have a boat. Without a boat, he couldn’t fish. And if he couldn’t fish, Hatten wouldn’t be able to feed his family

"I’ll tell ye what, lad," Tack said as they pulled into Ungrim’s little harbor. "If ye build me a boat with yer own two hands, even one half as good at this ’un, then I’ll trade you, and you can have yer Da’s boat back."

"But, but... I dun know how ta build a damn boat!" Hatten replied.

"Weel," Tack had said, stroking his long gray beard, "Ye better learn, then."

For the next year, Hatten went to anyone that knew anything about handcrafting a fishing boat. He learned dozens of tips and tricks from the older generation and even helped them work on their own projects in trade for the information. During the mornings, he earned money to feed his family by working on the docks. Unloading shipments to and from Kelgrond, helping the fishermen bring in their catch, taking any fish off their hands that wouldn’t sell at market and feeding his family with that."

"It’s long, hard work, and it pays shite," Hatten was fond of saying when asked about his change in careers. His old fishing buddies were sorry for the dwarf’s plight, but they couldn’t do much to help his situation. They were a bad storm away from the same life, themselves. But by the end of that first year, Hatten was smiling again. He found happiness in the process. Bust his arse in the morning, earn some meager pittance - enough to scrape by - and then in the afternoons, he would work with his hands. He found great pleasure in crafting boats with these old timers. It was almost like being with his own Da’ again.

Then, out of nowhere, Hatten’s wife Esmiril died in her sleep. The local wizard couldn’t figure out why, and neither could the healer. She just left them one summer night and joined the ancestors and the Gods that keep them. Yintal was still a young lad of only three years. The sturdy dockworker couldn’t afford a nanny to keep the dwarfling. So, Hatten made the only choice he could; he began to bring Yintal to work with him.

The little tyke loved being by the sea, and he loved working with his Da’. Day in and day out they joked and played and worked together on the docks. Yintal learned the name of every fish that the fishermen brought in, and could sing ever raunchy sailor’s song in the book. The dwarfling grew much stronger than other young ones his age because they only stayed inside and played with wooden toys while Yintal built muscles doing a grown dwarf’s work on the dock.

In the afternoons, they began building boats together. Hatten had learned all he could from the old fishermen and boat builders. It was about time he started making his own. He was certain it would take another year of hard work and practice before he had one that could be considered "half as good" as At Long Last, but that was fine by Hatten. He enjoyed the afternoons with Yintal making ships even more than he did the mornings on the dock with his boy.

But it didn’t take a year for him to make a boat worth to trade with old Tack. It took three.

Yintal was six years old when Hatten and he pulled up to Tack’s cottage in the completed boat, which by all counts, was the exact equal of At Long Last. Yintal had been sad that the wonderful boat without a name was to be traded for some, "ol’ yucky shite boat." Hatten had laughed at that description but had still popped his son on the back of the head for swearing. Hatten’s parenting wasn’t completely lawless, you see.

Tack was highly impressed with what the two dwarves had brought him. This vessel was perfect, just like Andren’s old fishing boat. "Ye did good, lad," Tack had said, and it was understood that he meant more than just with the crafting of the fine ship. "I’m gonna call her GoodFather."

"But, Tack, ye ain’t never married or had kids," Hatten had replied.

"No, but ye did. And so did me best friend this shite life ever gave me," the old fisherman said with a set of misty eyes. "He’d be real proud o’ ye, Hatten. Real proud."

The next day was to be Hatten’s last day on the dock. As he and Yintal rode the waves to the harbor, Hatten ran his hands over the weathered wood of his Da’s old boat and whispered, "At long last, I got ye back."

That afternoon, Yintal played behind some crates that he and his Da’ had unloaded when a sudden slurping splorch sounded from nearby. Through a crack between the crates, Yintal saw a gigantic humanoid rise from the sea. The scent was like a fleet of fishing ships full of rotten sealife. The mottled gray skin and disfigured face told Yintal exactly what this beast was. He had never seen one until now, but everyone that lived by the Sea of Nezra knew about the Grendel.

They were a tribe of sea giants that loved eating humans above all other activities. There was even a tribe of highly skilled giant killers in the area that was at constant war with the Grendelkin. These humans were known as the Wolves of the Bay, as their ancestral homeland was nestled in a bay not far from Ungrim. Some said that these humans had long ago worked some magic into their bloodline, making them ever better hunters of the Grendel. But no one knew that for sure.

The massive creature stood more than twice as tall as Hatten, almost three times as tall! It chortled a seawater-filled laugh at the dockworker with the golden hair. Hatten was trapped at the end of the pier, with the Grendel blocking the only escape. He could dive into the water, but there could be more waiting below. And even if there weren’t, the giant could easily catch Hatten in the water.

"Get ye gone, Grendel," Hatten said in a wavering voice. "There be no humans here."

"I actually quite enjoy the taste of dwarf, little one," the monster gurgled. "I just stopped by to have a snack. I’m heading inland in search of a new home. My tribe has split up, and I find myself lost."

"Why’re ye tellin’ me this?" Hatten had asked, eyes darting left to right. As the giant scratched his chin and looked skyward in search of an answer, Hatten caught his son’s attention and mouthed, "STAY HIDDEN."

"I often talk to my food, I guess. Strange habit, but there you go," the giant replied with a grin. "My tribe always said to me, ’Gorith, you’re an odd one,’ and you know what? I think they were right." He then took two massive steps towards Hatten and snatched the dwarf up into his huge hands.

From this high vantage point, Hatten could just make out the form of his son hiding behind that crate, but only because he knew where to look. A sudden movement from Yintal told Hatten that his son was about to do something stupid and throw his life away.

"STAY BACK!" Hatten had screamed at that realization.

Luckily, the enormous Grendel had thought the dwarf was speaking to him, and replied, "I shall not stay back! I’m hungry. Now shut up and die, little dwarf." Gorith then opened his wide mouth full of slimy, misshapen teeth and ate Hatten’s head in one bite. He then tossed the rest of Yintal’s father into the ocean and said, "Not as tasty as I remember. Maybe the hill dwarves won’t taste so fishy. I’m so tired of fish." And then he dove back into the water. Yintal watched the monster, Gorith, swim away towards a beach nearby, where he exited the water and ran into the forest.

Much later, a human female arrived adorned in wolf’s fur dyed bright yellow, leather armor with purlpe streaks painted on, shiny red boots, and an abundance of weapons covering her lean frame. She tapped on the small, frightened dwarfling’s shoulder.

"Ahem, ’scuse me little one. ’Ello, I’m Darva and I be one o’ Wolves of the Bay. I’ve tracked a particularly nasty Grendel this way. Ye’ve seen him, haven’t ye?"

Yintal nodded and said, "Why do ye speak like a dwarf, then?"

Darva grinned and said, "Well, I can talk like a human if you like, young sir. I just though you might feel more comfortable hearing me sound like your own people."

"Nay, it matters not ta me, lass. But I see the beast ye speak of. He ate me Da’s head," Yintal replied emotionlessly.

Darva saw right away that this young dwarf was in shock and needed care. She’d make sure to drop him off with someone he knew before she went after Gorith. "Okay, well, let’s get you to your mother. What’s your name?"

"Me name’s Yintal, and me Ma’s dead, too. Got no kin left," he said, again without emotion.

"Oh... I’m sorry, Yintal. Why don’t..." but before she could finish, the dwarfling interrupted the warrior.

"Nay, listen ta me, human. I’ll tell ye where the bastard went, but only if ye swear ta take me along. I want ta learn how ta kill giants, too. I want ta be a Wolf like ye."

Darva was taken aback by the language this little one used, and by the fierce determination in his voice when he had spoken of killing giants.

"Yintal, only humans can be Wolves of the Bay. We’re born into, you see? It’s a bloodline thing. There is magic in us. Magic that helps us kill giants," she explained.

"I dun care, lass. If ye want ta know, ye take me. Ye teach me how ta fight like ye, even without yer shite magic blood."

Darva threw her head back in laughter at that. She liked this one’s spirit.

"Ye know what," she said, slipping back into her dwarven brogue, "If ye truly want ta go, I’ll take ye on as me own son, How’s that sound ta ye?"

Without skipping a beat, Yintal nodded his head, spat in his hand, and offered it to her as a means to seal the pact, dwarven style. Darva spat in her own hand and shook the six-year old’s offered palm.

"Ok, now then. Gorith, the bastard, went that way," Yintal said, indicating the forest a short distance away. "But we can get ahead of him if we go by boat. Cut around to where he has ta cross another inlet."

"You sure know a lot, for a kid," Darva said. "But I don’t have a boat, Yintal."

"I’m not a kid, lass. Haven’t been for a long time. But dun ye worry. I have a boat. I inherited it from me Da’ who inherited it from his Da’. Best damn boat in Ungrim, ye can bet yer life."

With another laugh and a shrug, Darva followed the little dwarfling to an old wooden fishing boat, and painted on the side, she read the words, At Long Last.

Next Chapter: Nasty Way to Go