The pick point of the pickaxe bit into the rock with a sharp crack.
A thin plume of dust burst upward, curling in the dull crimson glow of the Rift light. The sound reverberated through the chamber, smaller than the cacophony made by the strikes of the other dwarves', but carrying a tone of its own at the same time.
Almost like a different note in the same song...
Beorstone's eyes narrowed as he studied the spot Cain had struck with eyes like that of a jeweler analysing the structure and beauty of a piece.
He didn't say anything, but his expression seemed rather appeased.
Cain on the other hand, was oblivious to the fact. He hefted the pickaxe again, his shoulders tightening and his grip adjusting instinctively as the weight settling comfortably into his palm.
"It really does feel right…" he muttered to himself.
This time he struck lower and at a sharper angle, letting the tool's head bite in and tear out an even larger chunk of stone.
