Bramble let out a soft “Oh”, his gaze dropping to the space between his feet, half-sunken into the soupy muck. “Then – what if I go get a job that pays in coin? I’ve heard that there’s someone looking to hire goblins down in the south—”
“No!” The word exploded out of Ren before they even realized they were speaking, forceful enough to send them hurtling forward. Because there was only one kind of job that anyone hired goblins for, and every one of them knew it.
The dark lords, of course, knew it best of all.
“No,” they repeated, softer, settling back onto their heels. “I’ll plant the seeds myself. Above ground, by the cottage. I’ll till new earth if I have to.” Whatever it took to keep their family from becoming someone else’s minions, forced to die for a cause no goblin could ever believe in. All because they felt they had no other choice.
“You don’t have to do it all by yourself, Ren,” Bramble said, his expression creasing with concern. “There are other fields above ground, other Caretakers.”
But none of them were as skilled as Ren. This fact burned bright at the forefront of their mind, blinding them to all else. Because when it came to the good of the clan, only the best would do, and Ren – Renowedit to them. Owed it in a way the other Caretakers didn’t, the way any goblin who’d been born into the clan didn’t.
“I’ll make it work. Trust me,” they insisted, the malformed debt that coiled in the pit of their stomach growing ever more ravenous, ready to take everything they could give and more.It has to be me. It has to be.
“I don’t know…” Bramble glanced over at Nana, searching, as all the other goblins did, for guidance.
Her decision was almost immediate. “Give Ren the seeds. They’ll be able to stretch them further while we gather more,” she said, the finality in her words enough to finally loosen the tension pulsating across Ren’s shoulders a much-needed fraction.
Unlike his sister, Bramble wasn’t one to argue, especially not with someone like Nana. Still, when he returned a few minutes later with the seeds, tucked into a coarse drawstring pouch, he nonetheless passed them over with one last, half-mumbled, “I really don’t mind going south, you know…”
“Okay,” Ren acknowledged with a nod. “But you don’t have to, so don’t worry about it. Just focus on the mushroom walls and the other croplands for now.” They gave Bramble’s hand a reassuring squeeze and slipped the seed pouch into their pocket, where it settled, heavy as a stone.
“All right,” Bramble said, letting out a soft puff of relief thatquickly unspooled throughout his entire body. “Thank you, Ren.”
Ren smiled, their outward confidence unshakable. Too bad their internal landscape was not so steadfast. For as much as their expression radiated certainty, matching every promise beat for beat, their knotted stomach told a very different story. Because, deep down, they knew that growing this much food in that little time on their own was a tall enough ask that it might as well have been impossible. And yet, they had to do it; not just try, butsucceed.
Already, their thoughts spun in a disorienting cyclone, spurred onwards by their quickening pulse. Command after command swirled through their mind:grow more,keep less,think of the clan in everything you do,be a blessing not a burden.And then –Pansy.
Ren’s breath hitched, caught on the pointed shard of their own mistake. All that food left behind – food their clan needed – devoted, instead, to a halfling who would never understand the true magnitude of this sacrifice. Or that it was even a sacrifice to begin with.
I need to get her out, Ren told themself; another reminder to follow the who-knows-how-many that had preceded it.Get her out and fix everything she manages to break before then. Speaking of…
“Thorn, do you have any more of that tonic of yours?” they asked.
Their cousin’s face immediately split around a disconcertingly large grin. “You mean myJuice?”
Ren made a face. “Ugh. Yes. That.” No way they were going to call it by that ridiculous name Thorn had come up with. It read as either juvenile or inappropriate – and distasteful eitherway. Which, considering the brain behind it, was probably the point.
Undaunted by Ren’s disgust, Thorn gave a dramatic sweep of his arm and said, “Then follow me to myatelier, and we shall set you up with theJuicethat you require.”
Thorn’s “atelier”, as he liked to call it – a gnomish inflection he’d doubtless picked up from his last girlfriend – had been relegated to the furthest reaches of the clan’s territory, down a series of winding tunnels, some of which narrowed to an almost uncomfortable degree. And that was for Ren, who, to be clear, was about sixty percent of Thorn’s size. By the laws of physics, Thornshould’vegotten stuck – or at least needed Ren to yank him through – but, somehow, he squeezed past even the tightest corners without issue.
When Ren asked him how he managed to do this, Thorn wiggled his arms and said, “I keep myself limber.” As if that explained anything.
By now, Ren knew better than to push for more detail. They held their tongue and waited for Thorn to finish rolling aside the boulder he’d fashioned into a makeshift door; his latest attempt at keeping the children away from his beloved toads, no doubt. Speaking of…
“You got more of them,” Ren observed, stepping inside at Thorn’s behest. Their gaze immediately snapped to the two-dozen toads scattered about the circular space, all resting on carefully constructed beds of moss, dirt and leaves, as well as the occasional pile of (likely) dirty laundry.
“Course I did!” Thorn declared with a grin, chest swelling with pride. “I have to be ready when the next market comesaround. I completely sold out of Juice last time, and each of my little beauties can only produce so much, you know. Honestly, I was real surprised by it. I didn’t think that many people would be willing to open their minds to the beauty of traveling to a higher plane of existence.”
In other words, get intoxicated off psychedelic toad secretions – which, for the record, wasnotwhat Ren was going to use them for. Recreational value aside, the secretions were also packed with nutrients: perfect for the growth paste Ren wanted to make.
“I’m sure Nana is thrilled,” they drawled, the corner of their mouth twitching into a barely there smile.
Thorn winced. “Nana,” he began, drawing out her name with guilty slowness, “doesn’t know.”
Ren sighed. “Of course she doesn’t.”
“It’s not like the toads leave this place, anyway! No matter how hard the kids try to make off with them. Speaking of, do you think you could convince them to stop before you go? Like I said, they don’t listen to me. And my excuse about ‘getting in touch’ with my Swamp Goblin heritage ran dry with Nana, like, ten toads ago.”
