That night, a storm brewed over the meadows. The wind whistled faintly in the chimneys. The cottage’s stone walls were solid enough to cut the chill, and Tryle was glad he was indoors.

At first, the raindrops tapped lightly against the windows. Then the tapping turned to heavy pattering, until an unrelenting downpour drummed down on the roof overhead, like a bunch of goblins were frantically clog-dancing.

Tryle couldn’t fall asleep for the longest time, still thinking about Henna’s enigmatic words. He had been pressured to join the raiding team, it was true. But in the end, he had chosen to come along because it was a simple choice, a slight detour in his constant, solitary life in the village. Yet now, his path didn’t feel so clear. His future was muddied.

In the morning, Tryle awoke to find Henna standing next to an overflowed bucket in the cottage’s main room. Two other full buckets of water stood off to the side.

“We have a leak,” explained Henna matter-of-factly. She pushed another rug with her foot to soak up some of the water pooling around the bucket.

“Really? The roof sounded pretty solid to me last night.”

“Hmph, I thought so too. But unbeknownst to me, your little friends left a souvenir on a weak spot.” Henna gestured to a soggy, cylindrical sack in the corner. Tryle instantly recognized as the bulky bag of breaching tools Gumbo had been carrying on the night of the raid.

“He must have just tossed the bag down and made a dent. And it was raining pretty hard.”

“Yes.”

Tryle followed Henna outside. The sky was blue and partially cloudy. There was a slight breeze but nothing more. Great slabs of shadow were interspersed in patches across the meadows.

Henna planted her hands on her hips and stared up at the roof. “I don’t think I’ll be able to go up there myself. Would you be a dear and take a look?”

“Yeah, of course.”

They had no ladder and the dining table wasn’t high enough to get up to the roof, so Henna tossed Tryle up. Her throw was so precise — not too high, not too low — that Tryle alighted easily on the smooth shingles, as if ascending a single step of stairs. He picked his way over to the hole next to the chimney and examined the hole.

When he came back down, he said, “If you have some kind of hard covering, I have Giant Snail slime that can work as an adhesive.”

Henna rubbed her chin. “I can take care of that.”

She quickly chopped up the stubby logs in the woodpile out back and fashioned a rough rectangle. She tossed Tryle up again, followed by the wood plank, which Tryle dragged over to the hole.

“Do you need any help, dearie?”

“No, I got it.”

Tryle unslung the coil of rope he’d hung over his neck and tied himself a belay line to the chimney. Then he inspected the roof again.

For a while, he readjusted the plank every which way to try to optimize its coverage. The hole wasn’t large, but its edges were jagged and misshapen, making it difficult to secure the plank in the first place.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It was also important he know how much Giant Snail slime he needed. The stuff hardened pretty quickly unless it was exposed to concentrated heat, and Tryle didn’t think an open flame on a wooden roof was the best idea. Since this was only a temporary solution, he didn’t want to apply so much slime that the plank would be too difficult to remove if Henna decided to re-shingle the roof.

Finally, he called to Henna and asked her to cut a larger block of wood. He sat down to wait, looking out across the sprawling meadows. Wind rippled across the grass, sending waves of white buttercups waving brightly in the morning daylight. Tryle closed his eyes, tilting his head back to breathe in the fresh, earthy scent left after the rain.

He tried to empty his mind of everything: of Gumbo and Lundy village; the unhitched, uncomfortable feeling of estrangement he felt from the place he should be calling home. The breeze felt nice and cool on his face.

And so it was only after some time that Tryle realized the wood was taking longer coming than it should have.

From the other side of the roof, he heard unfamiliar sounds — the clopping of hooves on hard-packed dirt, followed by the nickering of horses — things he’d only heard from time to time in the Woodlands from the human merchants trundling about in their rickety, horse-drawn carts.

Tryle cautiously began to climb over the roof ridge. As he did so, his foot slipped. He scrabbled for purchase, but the shell-like roof was too slick to grab a reliable handhold.

“No, no, no…”

He slid uncontrollably down the sloped side and met nothing but air. He rolled, trying to untie himself, but the rope kinked on the edge of the roof and jerked taut.

The world flipped upside down, and Tryle swung towards the door just as it opened. A pair of eyes widened. Someone let out a startled yell. There was a fwip of metal against leather, and something long, thin, and razor-sharp leapt into the air.

Tryle slowly swung back and forth, staring cross-eyed at the sword point hovering inches from his eye.

Henna appeared in the doorway behind, her inverted bob of curly white hair resembling clouds falling to earth. “Sir Cadoc, wait!”

Tryle gulped. “Please do.”

“Your Majesty,” said the man holding the sword. “Would you care to explain why a goblin is hanging off the side of your roof?”

“He happens to be a guest of mine. As for why he is here at all, that’s a longer story, which I am more than happy to tell if you could cut Bodkin down from there.”

The man hesitated for a moment before slashing the rope line extending above Tryle’s waist. Tryle fell in an undignified heap at the man’s feet. He scrambled to his feet, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the long, thick sword blade glinting at the man’s side.

“It’s all right, Bodkin,” said Henna. “Sir Cadoc will do you no harm.”

“Are you sure about that, Grandma Henna?” replied Tryle uneasily.

“You will address the lady by her proper title, wretch,” rumbled Cadoc in a low baritone. He was tall, blonde, and bearded, clad in scale-like gray armor with gold lining. His hawk-like eyes roved over Tryle with open hostility, as if calculating his every movement.

“At ease, Sir Cadoc,” said Henna. “This goblin means no disrespect.”

“What’s he talking about?” said Tryle. “What title?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Bodkin. You see, I’m rather important in these lands, though you and your tribe may not be aware of it.”

“What do you mean? You’re just another human granny, aren’t you?”

“The ‘granny’ you are so rudely speaking of is of a bloodline ten thousand times richer than yours,” said Cadoc. “Hold your tongue, goblin, while you still can.”

“I’m a little more than some old grandma, Bodkin,” said Henna. “But it’s understandable why you wouldn’t know. I’ve omitted some key information.”

“What information?” said Tryle. “You don’t actually eat goblins, do you?”

“What barbaric slander is this?” exclaimed Cadoc. He sheathed his sword and gestured to Henna with one massive metal gauntlet. “She would do no such thing. Before you stands Queen Audre Longping Wei. Giant Slayer, Diamond Breaker, and Grand Matriarch of the Emerald Kingdom.”

Tryle thought he must have hit his head, since he clearly misheard what Cadoc had just said.

“Queen? As in royal humans? The kind that wear pointy metal hats?”

Henna chuckled. “At times of ceremony, yes. Maybe not in the everyday. Come inside, Bodkin. We have a lot to discuss.”