The path narrowed as the group walked toward the mouth of the mountains. The air grew thick and damp, and the stone walls rose high on both sides. The Ogre Mountains loomed above them.
Just before the entrance, the ground shook.
Two massive shapes stepped out from behind the rocks.
They were ogres—huge, broad, and ugly in a way only ogres could be. Their skin was rough and gray-green, with huge tusks. Each carried a club the size of a tree trunk.
One scratched his belly and squinted at the group. The other picked his nose, then wiped his finger on the rock.
The first ogre grunted.
"Halt," he said slowly. "No walking into mountain."
The second ogre leaned closer, sniffing.
"You smell like wolves," he added. "I don't like wolves. Gives me itch."
Thornak stepped forward calmly.
"We seek an audience with your king."
The first ogre laughed, a deep, booming sound.
"You want to see king," he said. "King busy. King eating. King sleeping. King thinking."
