The dwarf drew in a deep breath.

The dwarf frowned and drew his war ax from his belt.

Any human was a potential victim, and even the dwarves drew back at the awesome menace Tomas projected.

My thought was that an unreconstructed old-type dwarf would draw too much notice, too many questions.

But he lost his nerve as the roaring dwarf drew near, and his shot flew harmlessly high.

The dwarf drew another breath, no steadier, but deeper.

The old dwarf drew a long breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.

"Your wish, my command, Master," the dwarf said easily, and drew his axe as he spurred after the archer.

The dwarf had drawn a crude diagram on a backlit wall panel.

The old dwarf drew forth a battered, leather pouch.