Chapter Text
Back in the time before Titans fell, when every Child of the Stone still heard her song, no dwarf could sunder what the Titans would not. No dwarves had ever seen the sky, and all felt at home in the Stone’s solid embrace.
Eilidh Sorcha would never know how lucky she was to be born in that time.
As staunchly traditional as dwarves have always been, when they became disconnected from the Stone, they clung to it all the tighter; casting out those who did not cling to the Stone “correctly”.
As it was, Eilidh was born with the Song humming through her veins and, as had her Ancestors, she never even considered life without it. She heard it differently from most though; she heard it brimming with questions that had never been recorded in book or Shaperate.
Why? Why? Why? It sang. How? Where? Why? Why? Why?
How do we all share the Song? Why is this stone black and sleek? Why is that one pink and ruddy? Where do crystals form? How do they? Why do they?
And as she grew, destined to be a Miner as her family has been for generations, she followed the song. Others felt it led her astray. Her curiosity leading her to flit from stone to stone, pelting her father with questions as fast as she clamoured about the tunnels, snatching up interesting bits of rock and crystal as they caught her eye and secreting them away into her pockets.
“The Stone will provide, Eilidh,” her father always responded. “When we need stone to form knives, the Stone will show us the way to smooth black rock that can hold an edge. When we need stone to make armour, the Stone will lead us to glinting grey stones that can be melted and shaped. This is how it has always been and how it always will be, my little bat.”
Young Eilidh stopped briefly and gave a slight huff, both at the insufficient answer and the endearment. But as quickly as she had stopped, she was on the move again as a glint of pale pink crystal caught her eye. Darting over and reaching into the slight recess the crystal was in, she disturbed some actual bats that had been resting there, sending them flying.
Startled, she watched the colourful bats flit about the tunnel and off to find some new place to rest, away from seeking hands. She tightened her hand on her newest crystal, and put it in a pouch at her waist instead of her pocket. Her father chuckled and ruffled her hair as he caught up with her.
“Come, little bat, we must make it to the end of this tunnel and back before dinner time. We need to retrieve some of that winding, glittering, dark orange stone you love so much, remember?”
Looking up at her father, her eyes lit up again, “Oh yes! It matches mama’s hair! And the craftsmen make it into... into...” She stalled, sifting through her mind looking for that lesson.
“Pots,” her father prompted.
“Yes! Pots! And sometimes rings!” Eilidh supplied, already skipping ahead to lead her father through the mine. “Let’s go!”
And her father followed, smiling the whole journey. A particular smile reserved only for Eilidh, and a memory she would treasure her whole life.