After the pack of wolves retreated, Merrill stepped out from the darkness.
In the dwarf's hand, he held a blackened long dagger. Although it was a dagger, compared to the dwarf's size, it was no different from a long sword. There was some dirt on his gray-black leather armor, and his hair was adorned with a few pieces of moss and dead leaves, looking a bit disheveled.
"I didn't kill it." This was the first sentence the dwarf said when he returned. Following that, he added, "But it probably won't live much longer." Merrill raised the dagger in his hand, returned to the bonfire, and sat down.
The dwarf didn't bother explaining what "it" was referring to, the dangers and difficulties encountered during the process, how he had escaped from those "dog noses," or why "it" wasn't dead but wouldn't live long. Although he didn't mention any details, nobody stepped forward to ask any questions.
