“You both argue like an old married couple,” Thorn said, his grin, which already seemed to occupy the majority of his sturdy face, somehow stretching larger. Two fangs, unsurprisingly larger than his cousin’s own – even with the rightmost one sporting a rather pronounced chip – peeked out over his lower lip in what proved to be a universal goblin trait.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ren scoffed, but the flush that had stretched across the bridge of their nose told the true story. “And just in case you’re trying to distract me,” they added, fixing Thorn with a particularly potent glare, “I’m going to remind youagainthat we don’t need any of your ‘Juice’. The garden is doing quite well, thank you.”
“But,Ren,” Thorn all but whined, lips budding into an exaggerated pout, “who comes all the way out to the market without buying anything? You even made poor Pansy haul along stuff to trade, judging from that basket of hers, which, by the way,” he added with a flash of teeth that was all charm, “smellsamazing.”
“I thought you said your ‘Juice’ was free,” Ren said, flatly, brows arching.
“Well, I—”
“Would you like some pumpkin pie, Thorn?” Pansy asked, pre-empting whatever silly argument was building between Ren and their cousin. She once again pulled aside the cloth covering her basket, revealing the pie nestled within, now one slice short. “I baked it this afternoon.”
Ren shot her a sharp look. “Isaidwe’re not purchasing anything.”
Pansy waved them off. “I’m not offering it as a trade. Just a gift.”
Thorn gave a slightly bashful-sounding cough. “I wouldn’t want to turn down such a generous offer. That’d be downright rude. But, say, Pansy, do you happen to know any other pretty halfling ladies who might be looking for astrapping, young goblin?” He gave a pronounced flex of his biceps as he said this, drawing a low groan from Ren, who clearly had been anticipating a moment like this – and dreading it.
Pansy giggled and passed him a slice of pie. “I only have one friend right now who isn’t already married. Her name is Blossom, and she runs the local flower—” Her eyes snapped open wide. “The Cold Flower! I almost forgot!”
“Is that what you came here for?” Thorn asked, his words half-muffled by the pie openly rolling around in his mouth. “The herbalist set up near Nana had some in stock last I checked, but you might want to hurry. Cold Flower always sells out fast.”
Ren’s head jerked up at the mention of Nana – their clan’s leader, from what Pansy remembered. “Your Nana’s here?” she asked.
“Of course. You know she loves making Union Crowns, and it’s not like anyone within the clan is going to need one. Not yet, at least,” Thorn amended after a beat, his gaze resting meaningfully on Ren in a way Pansy didn’t quite understand.
She wanted to ask what a “Union Crown” was, but Ren had already slipped their hand into hers once more. “Let’s go,” they said. “Nana’s pretty much always set up in the same spot.”
They found her atop one of the cavern’s slopes, manning a stall that wasn’t so much a stall as a simple, worn-down table, its pitted surface almost completely obscured by a mountain of blooms, all woven into multicolored crowns. Nana stood behind her wares, leaning heavily against a gnarled branch repurposed as a walking stick. Her deeply lined face, drooping slightly with age, brightened as Ren pulled into view. Unfortunately, the moment her gaze shifted, landing on the rounded shell of Pansy’s ear, newly revealed by the jostling crowd they’d had to squeeze through, her smile fell. And so did Pansy’s stomach.
Oh no, she thought, dread clawing its way up her throat as Ren continued to drag her towards the elderly goblin.She already hates me.
“Hi, Nana,” Ren said, a touch of hesitation edging into their voice. No doubt they had noticed the change in their leader’s expression just as keenly. They gestured towards Pansy, their lips stretching into a wide smile, marred, much like their words, by ever-encroaching stiffness. “This is Pansy, the halfling who’s been living with me at the cottage – and helping me in the garden.”
Nana’s features seemed to soften at that, a current of curiosity unwinding the tight guard of less-than-flattering expectations. “Has she now?”
“Yes,” Pansy said with a nod, forcing a smile. “After Ren told me how important the garden is to your clan, I had to help. To be fair, I’m not exactly much of a gardener. The kitchen is more my area of expertise.”
“Pansy’s been a great help,” Ren insisted, with more force than she had anticipated. Then, shifting gears, they nodded to an adjoining stall: a tent, really, fashioned in the shape of an enormous red mushroom. “That’s the herbalist Thorn was talking about. Wait here. It’s probably easier if I do the trading.”
A single glance at the herbalist in question, plainly visible through the tent’s flap, told Pansy precisely why. Even with several stalls’ worth of space between them, the goblin herbalist watched her with the intensity of a halfling shopkeeper beset by a gaggle of rowdy schoolchildren. His eyes narrowed, betraying every ounce of his distrust, his hatred, virulent and cold.
It was like being doused in several buckets full of ice water. Pansy jerked her gaze away, fingers tightening around the woven handle of her basket, its scratchy fibers scraping against the soft flesh of her palm. She said nothing, simply nodding as she strained against the dark pull in her chest. Wordlessly, she held out the basket. She refused to take advantage of Ren’s generosity more than she already had.
“Ah. I think a herbalist will be more interested in trading for a growth potion,” they said, gently nudging the basket back towards her. Every word had been spoken with the utmost kindness, and, somehow, that made the moment all the more painful.
Pansy’s ribs squeezed in on themselves, sharp points digging into the most tender parts of her. She swallowed and nodded, blinking rapidly against the wet sting blooming across her eyes.It’s just one goblin, she told herself, each word ringing more hollow than the last.He’s probably not even part of Ren’s clan, anyway. So, who cares what he thinks?
She shouldn’t have taken the herbalist’s behavior to heart.None of it had anything to do with her as a person. But, maybe, the fact that her own village had so thoroughly rejected her not even twenty-four hours prior had left her feeling especially vulnerable. Because even though Ren had certainly weathered worse on her behalf, at least they still had their clan on their side.
“You can’t make everyone like you,” Nana said after a beat, a near-perfect echo of words she’d heard long ago. “You’re just setting yourself up for disappointment if you try.”
Pansy huffed out a breathy whisper of a laugh, one that ended up coming out slightly wet, despite her best efforts. “I know. My own grandmother told me the same thing once.”
“She must’ve been a smart woman then.”
“That she was.” A wave of wistfulness swept through Pansy as the words left her lips, a softer, lighter complement to the darkness still clotting in the narrow recesses of her ribcage. “I miss her a lot. But it’s only because she’s gone now that I got the chance to meet Ren, so the feeling… it’s strange.”
Nana watched her for a moment, oddly silent, her features arranged into that same inscrutable mask that Ren sometimes wore. Perhaps it was a clan thing, or maybe simply a goblin one. Ren’s earsdidtend to be the most expressive part of them.
