Tryle kept his head down and walked to where Anok was sitting at the edge of the bottom row. Anok patted the place next to him and whispered, “Sorry, this was the last seat left. Everybody knew you were coming.”

Tryle looked at the space of nearly exposed stone, its sliver of moss cushioning so thin it might as well not have been there at all. “It’s all right.”

“What happened to your clothes? You look like you were in a fire.”

“Nothing. What happened to your leg?”

Anok sheepishly cleared his throat. “Nothing. I was stupid.”

“Not as stupid as what happened to my clothes, I’ll guess.”

“Ehh, I wouldn’t take that bet.”

They both went quiet as Chief Jrunta got to his feet and raised a clawed hand for attention. Tryle hoped he wouldn’t take too long; hunger was gnawing at his stomach like a beaver.

“We’ve waited long enough, so I’ll get straight to the point. We have identified our next raiding target. Three days ago, one of our Scouts came upon a wagon train full of supplies about a mile east from our furthest watchpost.

“Seeing a single traveler, he followed the wagons to a cottage at the very outskirts of the Woodlands — a cottage unbeknownst to us until now. The traveler was an old crone with a cane. Which makes her a juicy target already. But there is another fact that could make this raid even more profitable. Yorin?”

The Scout stood up. “I saw the inside of her moneybags. Heaps of silvers and coppers, I’m telling you. As big as vases, those bags were.”

A murmur swept through the assembly.

“And I smelled somethin’ else.” Yorin paused for dramatic effect, his barrel-like chest swelling with pride. “Gold bars. A ton of ‘em. No mistaking it. One bar has the tang of fresh rain, and grubs Almighty, it smelled like a waterfall coming offa this lady and her wagons.”

More excited whispers broke out. Paz knocked a gnarled fist loudly on the arm of his chair. “Settle down now. We have yet to discuss the risks if we are to carry out this raid.”

“Risks?” scoffed one goblin in the third row. It was Gumbo, a muscular goblin in the same brood class as Tryle, though with large tusks far more developed than other goblins his age. “What risks? We’ve got one human granny to worry about. We’ll send a raiding party like we always do and clean ‘er out.”

“I wonder what her flesh would taste like,” muttered a goblin sitting above Tryle.

“Ehh, it’d probably be stringy,” his companion said. “Like over-boiled chicken.”

“That’s enough with the jokes,” said Paz sternly. Outside of fish, fowl, cold-cut meats, and the occasional wild boar, goblins did not hunt other sentient species, magical or otherwise. “And everyone else, hold your thoughts until the briefing has concluded. Yorin, please continue.”

Yorin gave Jrunta a questioning look. Jrunta nodded.

“But there was something else,” said Yorin soberly. “I saw a Berserker Wolf while I was scouting ‘round that neck of wood. It was skulking by the cottage like it was watchin’ it. A big ‘un, with fangs like swords. Paws as big as my head, and fur black as midnight. Just like the stories say.”

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There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the grove erupted with clamoring voices.

“Berserker Wolf? You’ve gotta be kidding me — we’d have seen it passing through!”

“They don’t exist ‘cept for in the Shadowlands, my mommy said so!”

“How’d ya even get away from it if you saw it in the first place? Don’t those things travel in the shadows themselves?”

“Keep it down!” boomed Jrunta. “This is serious business, you hear? That cottage is miles outside our territory. Even without Yorin’s sighting, most of you have never left the surrounding grounds, never mind the very boundaries of the woodlands. Yorin, is there anything else you want to add?”

Yorin nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it myself, too. How’d the Berserker Wolf not sniff me out? Didn’t even know it was there until it moved off to the side of me, if I’m bein’ honest. And I came to one conclusion. It was focused on that granny, sizing her up like she was somethin’ else. Like a predator meeting predator. Now what kinda human would make an Al’shulga behave that way, huh?”

Then someone said, “Maybe the old granny smelled so bad that it confused the Berserker Wolf into thinking she was one of its kind.”

“Thank you, Yorin,” said Jrunta, ignoring the few chuckles that came from the crowd. “Now, based on his testimony, our esteemed artist Skorl has drawn a sketch of this strange human.”

At Jrunta’s words, a lanky goblin ambled down to the stage carrying a large scroll of parchment. He unrolled it with great aplomb, displaying a crude, charcoal sketch of what looked like a lichen-covered boulder sitting atop a triangle with two chicken feet sticking out the bottom.

A bemused ripple ran through the crowd. Despite being in the front row, Tryle leaned forward and squinted to try and get a better look.

“What is that?” Tryle whispered to Anok.

“The cottage, maybe?” Anok whispered back. “Was that his first go at it?”

“I hope it was.”

Elder Paz cleared his throat awkwardly. “Ah, Skorl…can you maybe explain what we are looking at, here?”

“Of course, Elder.” Skorl pointed cheerfully at the two black circles inside the oblong boulder. “These be the granny’s eyes. And this flat line here be her mouth. Oh, and the squiggles on top be her hair. I tried to make it extra curly from Yorin’s des-corption.”

A beat of silence passed. A few goblins snickered, and then a host of chuckles began to fill the grove, rising to a fever pitch. Elder Paz once again rapped his chair for order, but it was drowned out by the crowd.

Chief Jrunta’s face was as red as fruit punch. Skorl’s pointy ears drooped lower and lower.

Amid howls of laughter, Yorin rose indignantly. “That is not what I said she looked like!”

“Yes, it was!” protested Skorl. “White hair fluffy as clouds! That’s what you said, word for word!”

“You drew a stick figure, you moron! You’re makin’ us both look like fools!”

“Ah, why don’cha shaddup, Yorin!”

“Make me, Skorl!”

It took Chief Jrunta and two other goblins in the front row to keep Skorl from lunging up at Yorin, which disappointed Tryle — so far he was enjoying himself quite a bit.

After Skorl was wrestled back to his seat, Jrunta again bellowed for calm.

“Right,” he said, breathing heavily. “That’s enough of the briefing. What it comes down to is this: We are going to be taking every able-bodied goblin warrior we can to clean out this cottage, on the off-chance this granny has some extra protection we’re not aware of. And with reports of a Berserker Wolf skulking around the premises, I’m making the executive decision to do this raid in the safety of numbers.”

“Then why’d ya hafta drag us all out here?” complained a goblin with pock-marked, sagging cheeks. “I was havin’ meself a good nap. Don’t warrant having all of us plan out the whole thing.”

Jrunta shot him an evil look, and the goblin quickly clapped his mouth shut.

“Being the benevolent chieftain that I am, I was going to ask if anyone had reasons preventing them from doing this raid. But because you seem to be so enthusiastic, Bolbo, I’m making you my first choice of bait for the Berserker Wolf, should we come across it.”

Jrunta swept his steely gaze around the assembly. “So I’ll say it plain: Does anyone else not want to participate?”

Nobody raised a hand.

Then Gumbo stood up. “I don’t have objections for myself, and I don’t expect any self-respecting goblin to have one, either.” He glared across the amphitheater, directly at Tryle. “But I have one for someone else.”