From the tall trees' branches, casting shadows, and from the undergrowth swallowing the bases of Gothsin Forest’s elders, birds and creatures of the woods sang a song, unfortunately, drowned out by sniffs and snorts.

On all fours, La’Var inhaled the vapor of a purple stain on the mossy bark of a maple tree, and Adria, with Martin by her side, watched, twisted curiosity dripping from her face.

After a moment, the hunter gnawed the moss and licked it.

His hand landed atop his hat and he snapped upright, pointing at a bush leftwards.

“We’re almost on it,” he said, walking into the leaves and branches.

“On what?” Adria followed and covered her eyes.

“On the edge of the Bowl of Fur and Teeth. A real test of what kind of hunter you are. Not all of the creatures down there are deadly and strange, but all of Gothsin Forest’s strongest and weirdest call it home. And we're on the hunt for these woods’ strongest and weirdest…”

La’Var froze. By the forearm, he held Adria. As pieces of ground crumbled underfoot, the hunter pointed down. They stood at the very edge of a tall cliff — a barrier to a deep valley of silence, darkness and crooked trees. The Bowl of Fur and Teeth, Adria guessed.

They walked along the edge until they found a narrow trail.

Rotting fallen trees, boulders, bones and fur marred the descent, and the path became so tight that one wrong step could mean a long plummet to death. Adria barely breathed. In between fear, bouts of anger reddened her face: she would’ve much rather stayed at the inn than went down into a corner of the world untouched by civilization and unseen by the gods.

She’d never felt this sort of frustration before. Days ago, ‘for the inn’, the words she now repeated to herself to calm the nerves, were written in iron. The mind couldn’t imagine a thing she wouldn’t do for that church and the green ones inside.

And yet…

Adria had seen death but hadn’t had it smile at her before like it did in the catacombs. That encounter with her own mortality brought entirely new questions to her life. Would she really do anything?

Deep in thought, again, Adria forgot to breathe. As her mouth opened, her vision blurred. She missed a step, and her foot didn’t touch the ground. Her heart dropped. La’Var grabbed her backpack and pulled her back up.

“Careful… Are you fine?”

Adria nodded.

“Yeah, just… I guess I’m a little unprepared to walk at a normal pace through a forest and not run for my life.”

“Running for your life is an art. Hunting is too. But—”

“Running is no art!” Martin cut in. “It’s dishonorable even for rats, let alone fine men, who…”

Frowning, La’Var raised up a shaker full of salt and the spirit went quiet.

“But it’s different, as I was saying,” the hunter continued. “You need a fast hand and a quick eye, but also patience. A hundred-year-old goblin’s patience. Yet once you truly understand this art, you’d rather sit and watch a party of veterans doing their magic in the woods than watch a musician’s performance.”

“Don’t listen to his words: you must appreciate the arts to impress the madams!”

“Impress the madams? Me?” Adria’s brow furrowed.

“Madams, yes... Well… I have been dead and lingering in this forest for decades… Things must’ve surely changed. Must be all sorts of people.” Martin scratched the back of his head. “You might be into sirs, and if I’m lucky, maybe into ghosts, even.”

What a progressive spirit. Adria grinned.

“Speaking of, how’d you exactly die down here?”

Martin pointed up at the sky past the cover of leaves and branches. His tone darkened.

“I’m not allowed to speak about these matters. There was a fierce, great battle, but that’s all I can mention.”

“It’s not just a principle you spirits follow, right?”

“No, it isn’t,” the ghost murmured and went silent.

“I’ve been dealing with your kind for years, but never knew anything about that…”

“I guess because you didn’t do much talking and always went straight to the slaughtering part?”

La’Var grinned sheepishly and nodded.

A dozen meters before the bottom of the trail downwards, where the air was cold and damp, and the song of the woods silenced, a pile of animal skulls blocked the way. With Adria leading, the party climbed over, careful not to topple the macabre creation. Her stomach began turning in all the wrong ways.

“Why, La’Var? It’s such a tough way to earn coins… And so brutal. Why’d you choose this path in the first place?”

Once they passed the skulls, the hunter stopped for a moment and looked deeply at her.

“You know. You have that wear in your eyes. This isn’t a thing of choice: you start doing it then you grow to enjoy it,” he said and continued hiking. “In Sparkling Valley, no matter the kind of goblin you are, humans see all who’s green equally. Witless. You can follow in the footsteps of your tribe, slave for copper, tend the vaults of Valleyheart or go to places like Saint Goblin’s Inn. I had it good. A hunting tribe brought me into this world. And the hunt was a part of me since I can remember. Still, it was hard. I knew it would be hard for a long time. Still, I hunted.“

“You’re right. I know. It was bad in the north. I had to use sorcery to live. Then it got good and… I lost everything I loved in exchange for riches and luxury…” Adria went quiet before the returning memories could tear her from reality.

“What… Actually happened?” La’Var asked. “It’s a beautiful day, a beautiful hunt — we can speak on such things.”

“I can’t.” Adria sighed. “Those memories… The way you’ll look at me once you find out what I did…”

“You have to. Hunters, good hunters, come to terms with our hearts and our memories, else our prey use them against us.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Maybe, then, I’m not meant to be a good hunter,” Adria said, then grinned slightly. “You know you sound like Saint Goblin now?”

“Not at all — Ripplerip taught me this! The great Ripplerip. His lessons turned me into the goblin I am, and if I say something, those are his words,” La’Var snapped. He calmed after a second, fixing the burnt-up black hat on his head. “He was a good and bad teacher. He left me alone in brutal hunts to fend for myself. No instructions. Brutal. A truly brutal way to master this art. Though once you’re on a stallion in a field, chasing after wild lions, you turn from a pipsqueak to a real goblin. You see the chains of the past holding you back.”

“Life in the north turned me into a different goblin. Running from it did too.” Adria sighed. “I’ve had enough change, enough growth. I want days of slinging pints and nights of calm sleep.”

“You’ll get what you want when you become a goblin who deserves it.”

Even though noon hadn’t passed yet and the sun beamed above, night befell the party: they reached the bottom of the trail and entered the Bowl of Fur and Teeth, where dense trees blocked light’s passage. Cobwebs hung above, from the permanently frowning, wrinkled branches, while below, fur and bones made up for the lack of grass.

“Do not underestimate the residents of this place.” La’Var put a finger up to his green mouth. “Their minds might seem simple, but a lot is going on behind those blank eyes. If a suspicious rabbit catches us, the word could spread, and we could have a wyrm on our trail.”

“We’re on the hunt for a wyrm — that’d be good—”

Martin exploded into laughter, catching La’Var’s frown.

“You’ve got to be the first hu— goblin who says having a wyrm on our trail would be a good thing!”

“Believe it or not, spirit, but you’re right,” La’Var said. “First, we go after the deer. To get a feel for the forest, and to see if our weapons match nature’s.”

La’Var stopped by an ancient oak and lit a torch, whose light he had Adria block with her body. He looked around the trunk of the tree for a minute and found a lever. Pulling down, it creaked. From the branches, a tent fell and from under the rocks, tables, seats, chest, and campfires popped out.

“Welcome to my hunting camp.” With the torch, La’Var lit half a dozen candles around the tent. “It’s quite a mess, stinks like the north, but it’s cozy and surely better than sleeping outside in The Bowl of Fur and Teeth.”

Adria slumped into a seat, dropping her heavy bag aside.

“Break time?”

“We’ve been marching through these woods for hours. It might not feel like it yet, but you’re tired, and we need every last drop of strength for this hunt.” La’Var picked up a kettle, filled it up with water and put it up over a campfire.

Adria scoffed. It might not feel like it? Collapsing into the seat, if even for a moment, felt like a gift straight from the skies.

“I definitely feel it,” Martin said. “Legs aching, knees hurting, back twisted…”

“What, in the name of the Twenty Gods, are you complaining about, ghost?”

“Being tired from this journey.”

“You flew all the way here.”

“And? Levitation is no easy task.”

Shaking his head at the ghastly nonsense, La’Var picked up ham and bread out of the chest and laid them out on the table. Then, he took mugs and tea bags. When the kettle boiled, he made tea.

Adria took a sip. The strong and bitter taste refreshed her, and before she knew it, the whole cup was finished. She refilled and this time savored the drink. A little rose sprouting at the corner of the tent caught her attention.

Hey, little guy, how did you grow here? she thought, crouching by the flower. It’s dark and cold, and rain must rarely come down, but here you are…

Adria pet the flower. She’d prepared for the thorns to sting, but they were soft and squishy. The petals wrapped around her finger, releasing a fruity smell. This rose was different from any Adria had ever seen before and she couldn’t stop caressing it, and couldn’t stop wondering about how it came about.

La’Var called Adria.

The meal—ham sandwiches, dried vegetables and tea—waited on the table.

“You’ve seen that rose before?” Adria asked.

“Of course,” La’Var said, tossing a sandwich to Martin. The ghost rejoiced. “Though I’m a hunter, not a botanist: I’ve no clue how it got here. Even less of a clue why it keeps growing.”

“Still, it’s a beautiful little thing.”

“Unlike this meal.” La’Var took a bite and grimaced. “But we need to eat it. Once we get back, you’ll truly understand how delightful U’lis’ cooking is.”

“Hunger sharpens the senses, you know,” Martin said, mouth full of sandwich. “I never went to battle with a full stomach and I had the best aim, the sharpest swordsmanship and the quickest dodges! I miss that about being alive. Now, if you don’t feed me anything living, I’ll wither away into nothingness and take Adr— Ha’Dria with myself.”

La’Var swallowed and sighed.

“Just say you want a rabbit. I’ll get it when we’re done with our meal.”

Full stomachs clunking, bone dagger in Adria’s hand, sword in La’Var’s, they snuck through the deep undergrowth and dark shadows of the Bowl of Fur and Teeth. They communicated with signs and looks. At first, Adria struggled to follow the hunter and whenever he pointed, she took the wrong turns and did not do what he wanted. Then she caught on. In a blink, everything changed, like she’d gone from a blind woman to an all-seer. She understood everything going on in the hunter's head. it was enough to glance at a passage or make an offbeat pace for them to change course.

The hunter’s connection, Adria remembered La’Var drunkenly rant about it on one of her first days at the inn. Hunting apparently activates some sort of primal instinct. Two goblins turn into one mind. Their abilities multiply.

Ahead, bushes moved and shuffled. La’Var grinned in satisfaction, and Adria did too.

They’d found the rabbits.

The thought of hunting and feeding one of the poor things stung at her heart, but the hunter’s connection numbed those feelings, replacing them with the excitement and satisfaction of finding prey after clawing through the undergrowth for an hour.

Adria wielded her bone dagger and returned it to its place but a moment later — La’Var was shaking his head. Oh, yeah, she realized. If we’re trying to capture them, then weapons are only going to make it worse.

La’Var dropped to the ground and started crawling to the bushes. Adria crawled beside him.

Through the green leaves and the brown trunks, two lilac rabbits came into view. The adorable creatures munched on purple leaves, sniffed the ground for food. A gust of wind blew. The bush, which Adria hid in, trembled. The rabbits flinched, staring into the bush. Adria crossed her fingers, and she prayed they wouldn’t see through the cover. After a moment, the rabbits returned to their rabbit matters.

Adria turned to La’Var, who was already looking at her. Alright, thinking, she nodded. We snatch them when they look away.

La’Var threw up a thumb.

They lay in wait for a few more minutes. It grew harder and harder for Adria to stay still: dirt and leaves got into her clothes, and bugs crawled over her, and the cold began seeping through her skin.

She bit her lip, shivered.

Then the rabbits’ heads snapped away, distracted by something on the other side of the bushes.

At once, Adria and La’Var jumped and snatched the rabbits. La’Var’s rabbit, who was held by the hind legs, protested and tried jumping out. Adria instantly put her rabbit against her chest, caressed it and petted it. The little creature squirmed for a moment then gave into the soft touch.

“Hey, you should do it like this,” she said. “It’ll be easier to carry it back to camp…”

La’Var did not pay any attention: he was turned away, gazing into the distance. Adria stepped to his side and followed his stare.

A track—the width of three ancient oaks—of ravaged dirt, overturned trees and scale marks wound through The Bowl of Fur and Teeth a dozen meters ahead. A Verti deer walked down it. Antlers, eyes and patterns on its fur all glowed.

They walked up to the trail of destruction, careful not to make a sound, not to give the deer a reason to turn around, and the hunter crouched, taking deep breaths.

“Wyrm trail?” Adria uttered.

“Wyrm trail.” La’Var nodded solemnly.

“Good, we won’t have to search for one after we hunt the deer.”

“No, this is catastrophic!” La’Var snapped. “Don’t you see it?”

Adria looked around everywhere, feeling blind as a bat for a moment. Her eyes caught it, finally. The skeletons of a deer rested in the wyrm trail.

“The feeding season has come for it,” La’Var said. “We must hunt it now, else there will be no deer, no us… nothing at all will remain in The Bowl…”