Snarl took a nap on the chair, it slept on the edge and let its foot dangle and swing slightly. It was all he could do after the treacherous giant left it with no means to feed itself aside from the MILK. No amount of looking around made it find food, not even looking around the jars and shelves. The giant has hidden its stash in a secret safe, protected by the most hardened of guardians, a flat tree sentinel. The thing the giant called a ‘Door’.

Only a nap could cure this broken heart.

The door made noises, and that made Snarl ears perk in anticipation. The giant is back, with food, and deliciousness and- and the door wasn’t opening. It was just producing some scratching noise. Snarl squinted and decided to check the source of that noise.

It grabbed into the leg of the chair and slid down, crashing into the wooden floor with its now padded bottom then crossed the field of carpet. The noise was familiar, like something was trying to get through the sentinel. The stalwart guardian of the cave.

Snarl sneaked the last few steps and sniffed.

Danger. Intruder. Alarm!

Snarl hissed, and the scratching stopped. It was replaced by sniffing, as well. Then by similar hissing.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Another goblin? Snarl blinked in surprise.

A quick expression of hisses, clicks, then chirps followed. The other goblin did have a strange accent to it, something unforesty. But Snarl was so smart that it did not need much to figure out the meaning.

‘Stay out of my territory.’

‘This place is mine,’ Snarl growled.

‘If you don’t leave, we will make you regret crossing us!’

‘Forest goblins are strong, Snarl will win!’

Snarl was met with sudden silence.

‘You are a forest goblin, get out of our village!’

‘This is the great, wrinkled giant’s cave, and it is my territory now!”

There was a sudden thud, it made Snarl jump back in alarm. Then there was a sharp scream, followed by a rustle.

Huh.

Good, that inferior goblin realized the danger of facing against Snarl! Sole survivor of the Silent Death, the pettable of giants, the drinker of ambrosia!

Snarl walked away, back straight and head held high and climbed back into its nap throne.

The door opened shortly after when Nana returned with shoulders covered in snow. “That darned owl,” she grumbled, “It killed something else, this time on my doorstep.”

Snarl watched with confusion until Nana was inside and the door was closed again. “I got you some leftovers,” she said, taking out a large, half devoured drumstick. “hope you like chicken.”

A sharp toothed grin found itself on Snarl’s face.