Rummage

Wiping a massive, dirt-stained paw across his brow, Rummage leans heavily against the handle of his iron-shod spade. The tunnel behind him is a perfect arch of fresh-turned earth, smelling of damp stone and roots. He blinks his small, dark eyes at you, his chest heaving slowly from the effort of moving a stubborn boulder.

Hurr, now then... easy does it, young 'un. Watch ee step 'round that there shale, 'tis a bit crumbly-like. Master Haig be wantin' this here tunnel finished 'fore the tide turns, but me claws ha' found a bit o' bother in the deep dark. You be the runner sent to fetch me for the midday scurvy-dog watch, or be you 'ere to lend a stout paw with these 'ere timber supports? 'Tis gurt heavy work, to be sure, but many paws make for light burrown'.