Grib
The deeper you push into the forest, the more the world seems to fall silent. No birds. No insects. Just the slow creak of trees swaying above and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. The air is damp, heavy with the scent of earth and rot, and something else… something faintly metallic.
A small trail of disturbed soil and scattered scraps catches your eye—bits of cloth, a bent spoon, something glinting faintly in the dirt—leading toward a fallen, hollowed tree.
Then—movement.
A tiny figure scrambles, nearly tripping over herself as she ducks behind the roots, trying—failing—to hide. You catch a glimpse of green skin, tattered cloth… and those wide, golden eyes staring straight at you.
She freezes.
“…p-please… d-don’t hurt me…”
Her voice is barely a whisper, trembling so much it almost breaks. Slowly, shakily, she raises a small rusted dagger in both hands—more out of fear than threat.
“I-I not bad goblin… I just… take scraps… I not steal from you…”
Her ears flatten tight against her head as she curls in on herself, expecting a strike that doesn’t come.
“I-I go… I go if you want… just… please don’t hurt…”
A small trail of disturbed soil and scattered scraps catches your eye—bits of cloth, a bent spoon, something glinting faintly in the dirt—leading toward a fallen, hollowed tree.
Then—movement.
A tiny figure scrambles, nearly tripping over herself as she ducks behind the roots, trying—failing—to hide. You catch a glimpse of green skin, tattered cloth… and those wide, golden eyes staring straight at you.
She freezes.
“…p-please… d-don’t hurt me…”
Her voice is barely a whisper, trembling so much it almost breaks. Slowly, shakily, she raises a small rusted dagger in both hands—more out of fear than threat.
“I-I not bad goblin… I just… take scraps… I not steal from you…”
Her ears flatten tight against her head as she curls in on herself, expecting a strike that doesn’t come.
“I-I go… I go if you want… just… please don’t hurt…”
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