8. Caretaker

Dorothy sat watching Gob shiver on a couch that was far too big for him. She'd rolled a dress under his grimy green neck, and covered him in a patchwork blanket.

Though she wasn't even sure if goblins needed to stay covered up when they were injured. But it made her feel better at the least. And Gob looked a little more comfortable wrapped up as he was.

She'd managed to stitch a couple wounds and remove a broken bit of antler from Gob's stomach. By the looks of both corpses, the scrawny goblin had tried to kill the deer by jumping on its neck and ripping out its throat. Which seemed to have worked. But then the two of them must have gone down together in a thunderous tumble, nearly crushing Gob and impaling him.

Dorothy had explained to Moira, while both women saw to the goblin's wounds, what had happened and how her and Gob had come to meet. And she'd explained as well about this Great Chief Taruk. But by the end Dorothy couldn't tell whether Moira thought she was mad, and disbelieved her, or did believe her and thought she was madder still.

In either case, she'd been keen to leave not long after, making mention of the fading daylight. But it was clear to Dorothy that she was scared and panicked, and wanted to leave for reasons other than the rise and fall of the sun.

Moira had promised not to tell anyone in town about Gob, but Dorothy didn't hold out much hope of that. Lucky for her, most folk already thought poorly of Dorothy, so if they learned she was keeping a goblin as a pet then they'd likely not be that surprised.

But if what Moira said about men coming to slay Taruk was true, then they might not look kindly on her sheltering Gob. Which was a lot of things to worry about for an old woman. And that wasn't even covering what she was supposed to do if this Great Chief Taruk did turn up at her door wanting to make war.

"Stupid old fool," Dorothy muttered to herself, getting up from the sitting room and heading towards the kitchen. "Should have kept your head down."

The rich smells of venison stew wafted out to meet her as she opened the door. The broth slowly bubbled over the fire, and even as tired and stressed as she felt, it made her fiercely hungry.

Nearly two days had passed since Moira had left, and Gob hadn't done much more than murmur in all that time, so Dorothy had tried to stay busy to keep her mind occupied. There was a part of her that found it strange how much she cared about the goblin, but she reckoned that was mostly down to guilt. She should have just sent him on his way instead of trying to trick him.

She might have saved him first time around, but it would be her fault now if he died.

Dorothy spooned some stew into a worn wooden bowl, making sure to get chunks of meat and vegetables along with the broth. She set it on top of a cupboard to cool while she sliced off a husk of bread from a loaf.

Stomach rumbling, and mouth dry, she was beyond ready to eat, but she heard footfalls approaching from the dirt road. Not one set of steps, she realized grimly, but dozens.

"Womanling!" came a proud and impatient call. "Come and face Great Chief Taruk!"

***

Dorothy's mind had raced once she realized what was happening. Going as fast as it had ever gone. Going swiftly from nowhere to nowhere.

Peeking out of her door, the house was surrounded by goblins, and there would be no way for her to escape unnoticed and no chance of her outrunning even the slowest of them.

More shouts had come, and the crowd outside was getting impatient, but Dorothy had decided in the end to do nothing. Nothing except pray. That way she might come to peace with her life, and her looming death, before she stepped out the door and faced her fate.

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"Womanling!" the proud voice roared for a third time. "This is the last I ask. I can smell the decay of your skin amid the stink of deer flesh. Come out, or I will break down your door!"

Dorothy let out a long and shuddering sigh. She smiled regretfully to herself now she slowly pushed open the door.

The sight before her was almost dumbfounding. The herald and the two giant twins had returned, but so too stood over three score goblins all of different shapes and sizes, nearly a third of them wearing poorly fitted, mostly frayed clothes.

They carried weapons, some roughly crafted, others clearly stolen from humans, and slings and bows and shields. It was a rag tag army of goblins standing outside of her door.

Then ahead of them all towered Great Chief Taruk. His eyes were keen and bright, coloured blue like the sky. His head was squared and his jaw was chiselled, almost like a man's. He had no hair, but he wore a long shirt with a single sleeve, and had wrapped beaded string around his pate. The breast bone of a bird hung from a necklace, resting between his muscled chest. He was hugely tall, over seven feet, but stolid and looked to be carved from stone like a statue of old.

Strangest of all, Dorothy almost considered him handsome now he smirked up at her, his two small fangs protruding from his lower lip. "Womanling. I do not like to wait."

"Patience is a virtue," she answered, surprised by the surety of her own delivery.

"Hm." Taruk slightly cocked his head. An axe of a strange make rested on a belt across his hips, while a shield, seemingly wrought of a single piece of bronze, covered his back. Dorothy wondered if he and his clan had been raiding old dwarven ruins. "What is a virtue?" he eventually asked.

Having left her pan inside, Dorothy didn't know what to do with her hands. "A quality. To aspire to. Like honour to your kind."

Taruk raised his hairless brow. "Waiting is honour to the womanling? Is that how you became so old?" he asked with a sly smile.

"Just lucky, I suppose."

"Luck." He tutted. "I do not believe in it. I think... perhaps," he then said, "I have been deceived. Or, my clan have fooled themselves. For I was told you are a fierce fighter. Making a clan."

"I'm just an old woman. Your goblins came to my house at night and there was a fight. Five against one. Didn't think that was right, and they were on my land, so--"

"My land," Taruk cut in, his bright eyes darkening. "This, and all around, is my land, womanling. So long it has been, so long it should be. Though the manlings do favour forgetting."

"Well... I got involved. The big one wanted to duel, and I won. Honourable combat. Can't fault me for that, can you?" Dorothy asked.

"Hm. No fault," he agreed. He then rolled his neck, and rested one hand on the handle of his masterwork axe. "Where is the survivor?"

"Depends," Dorothy said, trying to master her fear and summon all of her courage. "I won't let you eat 'im."

"Won't you?" Taruk bared his teeth. He stepped forward, raising his axe ahead of him. "Can you defeat me, womanling? Honorable combat."

"No," she conceded. "Doesn't mean I won't try if you've violence in mind."

Taruk met the words with a broad smile. "Brave," he remarked. "Foolish. But brave, womanling. I will not eat the goblin, but he must return. It is not the way of the world for a goblin to live with a manling. You are not his mother," he added, speaking the last word with a deal of venom. "Goblins do not have mothers."

"He'll be safe?" Dorothy hopefully asked.

"The world is not safe," Taruk countered. "He will not be harmed. Most goblins do not have wisdom either. He fled in fear. This is the way of all living things."

Dorothy slowly nodded, but held her ground now Taruk ascended the steps. The wood creaked underfoot and she was surprised they held his weight with the railing broken. "I--" she began, wanting more assurances, but he simply shoved her aside and ducked into the kitchen.

Great Chief Taruk looked cramped in the small kitchen. He wandered over to the boiling broth, sniffing, and then searched quickly around before moving through to the corridor.

He stomped through to the bedroom, pulling open cupboards and draws, before marching back towards the sitting room.

Dorothy had beaten him there, but they both ended up with the same question.

"Where is the survivor?" Taruk asked again with less patience, looming over her, his breath hot and rancid. Gob was gone.