Noggin leant back a little so the light of the fire wouldn’t play over his face as he looked down through the branches. Around the fire the humans were talking and gesturing at one another, their strange noises carrying easily like the pungent smoke from their cook fire.
The tall one sat reading while the small one washed itself with a rag. They made noises at each other while the fat one dug a pit and waddled over to produce a small pot from the packs laid over the pony. That’s why Noggin was watching them, the pony looked and smelled so tasty his mouth already watered at the thought of roasting its flesh over the fire later.
The fat one made some noises and the small one squealed and slapped at it. Noggin grinned as the squeals reminded him of Dunker leaving Ribbon’s tent last night to rut noisily with him instead. She’d laughed when they were done and told him that while his was straight like a knife, Ribbon’s was as bent as Barok’s scimitar.
As bent as Barok’s scimitar
The four goblins had been careful to shepherd the group for the last few suns. Keeping a bear and a small group of wolves away. Humans often lost their wariness when things seemed safe and comfortable and their progress through the forest had been easy as the goblins ranged ahead of them, scaring off the animals who might otherwise have come to pester the humans at night.
As he crouched in the tree the tight-wound leather of his knife felt good in his fist. Running his tongue over the cool metal he wondered whether he would get a chance to use it this time. The fat one looked slow and should be easy to catch. He pictured the round white face gaping at him as dark blood seeped and pulsed through its fingers as he slashed and hacked at that enormous belly.
Just then his keen nose caught the twin scents of terror and blood drifting from upwind where the humans had hobbled the pony just beyond the firelight. Ribbon must have slit the beast’s throat and would now be finding his own tree. He just needed to be patient.
Noggin still had some wolf meat stuck in his back teeth. He picked at it with the knife and managed to work a chunk clear just as Ribbon’s recurve bow twanged loudly from across the clearing. Noggin traced the arrow as it whipped through the space and buried itself in the small one which had finished washing and stood to pull its clothes over its head. It screamed, stumbled and tripped headfirst into the fire.
Noggin traced the arrow
The fat one gaped at the screaming creature, but the tall thin one was reaching for its sword even as it began to look about, ignoring the small one which quickly stopped screaming and thrashing, the scent of burnt hair and flesh filling the air. That instinct to look for danger betrayed its experience and training and Noggin gripped his knife tighter seeing at least one of these foul-smelling creatures knew how to fight.
Then a nearby branch drooped suddenly. A loud crack rang out and Dunker, who must have crept too far out on a dead limb, flailed as she and the branch fell from the tree to crash with a whimper to the ground by the humans below.
Noggin froze until movement caught his eye and he saw Barok in a tree to his left moving from where he crouched in the shadows, curved scimitar held ready, yellow eyes fixed on the shapes below as he prepared to jump. Noggin leant forward too, tensing for the little leap which would carry him out into the dark as the tall human rolled smoothly forward from where it sat like hot fat flowing down meat, quick and slick, coming to his feet immediately below Noggin and extending its sword towards Dunker.
She let out a little gasp and as his body began to uncoil Noggin saw the human hadn’t simply gestured at her but had pushed the sword down through Dunker’s chest in the same fluid motion that brought it to its feet. It yelled at the fat one, probably some pointless human warning, dropping the sheath to snatch out a dagger just as Noggin’s feet left branch.
As he fell he could see Dunker was dead, body lolling limply as the human stepped forward onto her chest, crushing her under its boot as it pulled the sword free with a grunt and turned towards Ribbon. Ribbon who was rushing out from the trees, fancy bow discarded and gleaming axe held overhand above his head, bawling a battle cry.
Ribbon had killed himself in trying to save Dunker. Even as the air began to roar past Noggin’s ears he could see realisation on Ribbon’s pinched face. His lips were white and eyes wide as the willowy human side-stepped and almost tenderly slipped the sword under Ribbon’s arm, through the gap in the mail there and into the unresisting flesh of his chest. It looked so easy.
Noggin struck then, high where the shoulder met the neck. The notched, black, and wicked-sharp blade of his knife disappeared up to the handle in the smooth pale skin. Noggin stared at the handle in his small fist knowing he didn’t have the experience or skill to have struck such a blow deliberately. The tip must have found something vital because the body buckled beneath him and they both collapsed to the ground.
Noggin lay stunned while the screams of the fat one let him know Barok must have started hacking it to pieces. He smiled at the sounds until turning his head he caught sight of Dunker’s body close by in the grass. With a pang of regret he realised she would never again offer him the warm comfort of her flesh. A pleasure only improved by the jealous looks he’d get from Ribbon. He groaned quietly then; Ribbon was dead too.