As one, every head in the assembly turned to look at Tryle. Tryle felt his face grow hot, shrinking down in his seat from the combined weight of their hostile gazes.

“Yes,” said Jrunta distastefully, looking like he’d swallowed a pound of cow dung. “As for that… Elder Paz and I have conferred on the matter of Tryle Bodkin. Like I said before, every able-bodied goblin is needed, and due to the recent injury of Anok Hweedle, we are already starting this raid short-handed. And though I’m strongly against allowing any cross-toed, skinny-boned, weakling bringer of misfortune anywhere near of this village’s resource-gathering missions, due to the Elder’s belief in second…no…millionth chances, we have decided to allow Bodkin to participate.”

The assembly instantly erupted in protest.

“I might as well chop off a toe before raidin’ with that whelp!”

“He’s gonna make us lose out on all that gold, I’m telling you!”

“I be a real artist!” shrieked Skorl.

Jrunta let the rabble continue for another ten seconds before roaring for order. In that time, Tryle was showered by spittle from nearby assembly-goers, bombarded with insults, and hit in the face three times with rapid-fire projectiles of yellow-green snot (the thin, tubular nostrils of goblins made for surprisingly accurate blowguns).

Eventually, the crowd’s outburst subsided. Tryle gingerly wiped the shiny smears of mucus off his face.

“I understand how you feel,” said Jrunta. “But Bodkin’s coming. You grubs don’t gotta like it. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

“We don’t need him,” said Gumbo loudly. “Things always go wrong when he’s around.”

At this point, Tryle felt he needed to say something to defend himself.

“Listen, trial and error is a vital component of the scientific method,” he said loudly. Beside him, Anok groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Gumbo rolled his eyes and snorted. “More like trial and failure.”

“We are all goblins here,” said Elder Paz diplomatically. “Let us not pollute the grove with insults.”

The goblin Bolbo stood up, jowls trembling, and shook an infuriated finger at Tryle. “He lit my bed on fire while I was sleeping — nearly burnt my butt-cheeks off! And don’t get me started on the time he mixed in Giant Snail slime with the bathwater to make syrup for grub-sucking finger cuts!”

Another goblin shot to his feet. “He stole the underwear that I stole offa that human merchant from Medeira, and turned it into a slingshot!”

Tryle thought he was being a little unfair. He hadn’t set fire to Bolbo’s straw mat on purpose; he had merely been trying to test the wind resistance of a firestone he’d recovered from a nearby cave. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t a good idea to play with fire during windy days, nor was it wise to mix water and Giant Snail slime in an attempt to make a paste alternative to bandages. Hindsight is 20/20, after all.

And that piece of human underwear had just been lying there on the ground, limp and dusty, right in front of a hut in the village. One could say it was being underutilized, completely wasting its elastic potential.

While Tryle was forming these counterarguments in his head, another round of arguing and shouting had broken out.

“He messed with my snares and released all the rabbits I caught!”

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“He dropped my firewood in the river with his stupid arm-crane!”

“He fixed my broken boots with slippery heels and made me almost break my arm!”

Then again, while most of them were ignoring his motives for engaging in his scientific exploits, Tryle couldn’t deny the others’ dislike of him was not entirely invalid.

His prototypes were imperfect. And sometimes, they worked in ways he had not intended. There were many instances of this happening, like the aforementioned slippery boots Tryle had designed for speedier walking, or the automated fishing net trap that had turned out to be very good at catching goblins instead.

“Okay.” Tryle scrambled to his feet, holding up his hands placatingly. “Okay. So I’m sensing some resistance to my being on the team.”

“You think?!” someone yelled. In the row above Tryle, one glaring goblin readied his nostrils threateningly.

Tryle raised an arm protectively. “Please, no more mucus-shooting. It’s really unhygienic. As for those rabbits, I let them go because they were practically babies. They got no meat on them, anyway. And if we keep catching infants at the rate we do, we might mess up the birthing curves in the rabbit population so much that they can’t replenish their population enough for us to keep hunting them! And as for the arm-crane, I admit the design was flawed — it was my first try at lifting heavy loads — but I’m working on a better model! And this one’s gonna be a lot more robust than the last.”

Tryle saw the looks of discontent on everyone’s faces and forged on.

“The thing is, I agree with you guys! I don’t want to go on this raid, either. I don’t believe we should be robbing for a living!”

“Why not?” someone yelled. “It’s fun to rob people!”

“Yeah!” shouted another. “You get stuff free without working for it! It’s great!”

Tryle bit his lip. “Yeah, um…okay. Free stuff is good. But for one thing, it’s really unsustainable.”

“But it’s freeeee!”

“So what happens if no more merchants pass through because we keep jumping them?” retorted Tryle. “Their normal routes won’t be seen as safe. We won’t have a steady supply of normal goods anymore. ”

Jeers rained down upon him. The goblin that had been priming his mucus shot ignored Tryle’s previous plea for restraint and spurted a sticky, high-pressure stream at his head. Tryle ducked.

“And for another thing,” he said, once he came back up. “It’s just plain wrong! Like, ethically. Would you like it if humans raided our village every few months and stole everything we had?”

“Ah-hah!” said Gumbo loudly, turning to address the crowd. “The weirdo finally reveals his true colors! He’s a human sympathizer! Chief, are ya really gonna let ‘im sabotage the mission? ‘Cause that’s what he’s gonna do!”

Amid the Anok struggled up to stand on his one good leg, swaying precariously. “I’ve known Tryle ever since we were little!” he said indignantly. “You’re all wrong! He just wants to help!”

“Siddown, Anok Hweedle!” boomed Jrunta. “You are only on this council meeting per tradition. With your injury, you are not officially part of this discussion!”

Anok sputtered, but Tryle helped him back to his seat. “Take it easy,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t hurt your leg even more.”

“You’re worried about me?” Anok hissed back. “Tryle, what are you doing? You have to go!”

“Bodkin,” said Jrunta. “Be very careful with your next words, or you’re on dung duty for the next five moons when we get back.”

Gumbo spluttered with rage. “Chief, you can’t be serious! Bodkin can’t be trusted with raising a stinkworm, never mind robbin’ and raidin’ humans!”

“Be quiet, Gumbo. Bodkin has a duty to uphold. Whether he looks it or not, he’s a goblin of Lundy village.”

Jrunta was grinning nastily at Tryle as he said this. Tryle gulped. He and the Chief had a long and rocky history complicated even more by recent events. He had a feeling that Jrunta wasn’t “advocating” for him purely out of a heartfelt consideration for Tryle’s best interests.

“I agree,” chimed in Elder Paz, his high voice finally cutting through the commotion. “We understand Tryle’s activities can sometimes be…challenging to deal with. But this is a chance for Tryle to atone for his past behavior, provide real value for his comrades, and show us all he can reintegrate as an honest, functioning member of the goblin community...by helping us rob this granny.”

“Elder Paz,” said Tryle. “I really don’t think —”

“The matter is settled,” said Elder Paz firmly. “Our decision is final. All goblins present will be participating in our first excursion at the outer borders of the Woodlands: The Great Nighthunt Granny Raid!”

He waited a moment to let his words sink in, as if anticipating applause. When none came, he said, “Ah. Well. The name is a work in progress. Chief Jrunta and I can workshop it later.”

There were still low mutters of dissent around the grove, but nobody raised their voices in opposition. Gumbo and several others remained in their seats, silently fuming.

“Fighting goblins never shirk their duty, willingly or not,” declared Chief Jrunta. He was still grinning at Tryle, a sinister twinkle in his eyes. “We leave in two day’s time. Riches await us.”