"That's all right with me," he chuckled, and went and held out his hand. After a moment of scrutiny, the dwarf-man took it.
"Slag," said Karola, touching the dwarf.
Thor studied him, seeing tremendous shoulders and, hanging from them, long arms that were heavy with red hair. Matted red locks fell to either side of bright blue eyes in a grotesquely ugly face where big nose and broad lips gave him the look of a cheery gnome. A leathern girdle was twisted around his waist. Short legs, thick with muscles, were slightly bowed.
"I'm Thor, Slag. We'll get along, you and I. But no more fighting with Karola."
The dwarf-man grunted and slapped his stomach. His gesture reminded Thor that he was hungry himself.
They walked over the barren rock. In the distance Thor could see where the stone fell away and the earth began. He began to trot. Those red grasses might lure animals to feed. And thinking of steaks cooked over an outdoors fire brought saliva to his lips.
For three hours they stalked through the red grass. And then, around a black outcropping of basalt, Thor sighted two small deer.
Slag started to run, but Thor caught him by the arm.
"The club, man. Give it to me."
Reluctantly, Slag loosened his grip. Thor glanced at the club, hefting it. It was heavy, but balanced perfectly. Often, in the Oregon camps, Thor had thrown axes at a mark, axes less perfectly balanced than this club.