“—Simel!” The word erupts joyously from my throat and I turn my head to look at his face. “Simel, we’re here! We finally got here! Simel, the city, it’s—” He doesn’t react. His face is slumped over across my back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, ears drooping. I can feel my chest rising and falling. “S—Simel?...”

The world stops turning. The wind stops howling. My heart no longer beats and my lungs no longer breathe as I stare at the silent, lifeless face slung over my shoulder.

And then a tiny, almost unnoticeable wisp of white air leaves his lips and the world returns to colour.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

He isn’t dead.

But I don’t have time anymore.

Feet wheeling beneath me I practically throw myself down the hill, heart in my throat, speeding as fast as I can, not caring about the hides around my legs falling off in my mad dash towards the city. Mind reeling, I sprint for it, not stopping when my feet connect with sand rather than soot, continuing even when said sand becomes firm and clearly used. I run inside the city, through the simple road and passing by the small, blocky houses without any mind for anything.

Where—where—where can I take him? Who will help? I’m not wearing any disguise. No one would help me, looking like this. What does he need? —Food, shelter, drink…

Throat burning with each panting breath I take, I abruptly stop in my tracks right outside one of the many, many houses lining the simple road. The inside is dark. The windows are little more than openings along the top of the wall. The door is made of wood. The inside is dark. Breathing heavily, I step closer to the door. I knock on the door using my forehead. There’s no response. But the door is locked. So I knock again. Knock knock.

Standing out here, in the horrible cold, with Simel on my back, the both of us covered in a bear skin, I wait for a response. I shuffle a little. Looking down, I notice that I’m missing a couple of toes, but that’s okay. I can make do. I’m okay. I just need—

I smell someone awake. I hear movement inside the house. Someone steps down the stairs. The door is smaller than my own frame, so I take a step back once I hear movement just behind it. Someone fiddles with what I assume is a lock and the door slowly opens, a head peeking out from within. “Hello? What do you want?” His yellow eyes fall on Simel and they widen, the door opening a bit, too. “Is he alright? Would you like to come—”

Leaning forward, I carry Simel’s weight on mostly my back as my left hand, my only hand, flashes out and gauges a deep slash across his throat. He stumbles back, eyes wide, mouth moving. I step closer, pulling the door open fully and closing it behind me as the goblin—a strangely yellow one—falls over and bleeds out on the floor.

Let’s see, how do you lock this thing? Well, since it opened inwards, it can be blocked pretty easily. Using my feet, I push the yellow goblin over to the door, holding it close that way.

I take a deep breath through my nose, breathing in the layout of the house. Master bedroom is upstairs. That’s my goal, then.

Huffing, almost gasping, I drag the two of us upstairs, up the coarse stone stairs, into a little hallway and then into a room to the side. There’s a little mound on the bed. No, not a mound. Another goblin. It looks at me, eyes wide, instinctually backing up atop the bed. “Wh—who—”

I cross the room in three even strides, grab it by the throat and crush its neck in my hand as I simultaneously toss it to the side. It lands on the other side of the room with a dull thud.

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Crush Lv.3>

Bed. Bed. Bed is good. That’s what he needs.

Moving gently, more gently than I would move even a sleeping toddler, I remove Simel from my back and lower him onto the bed, making sure his head finds rest on the pillow. A proper pillow. A real pillow. And real bedsheets, too! But he can’t sleep in his uniform. Not anymore. He’s safe now, in a cool and warm and cosy bed. He needs to be wearing a proper pyjamas. Now, where would I find one of those?

I hear small footsteps outside the doorway.

“Mother?” a little voice says. “Mother, is everythin—” Moving swiftly, I grab it by the throat. A pyjamas. Most households of any repute should have a pyjamas, right? That’s only standard. The thing in my hand squirms and kicks at me so I clench and feel how its throat gets crushed in my hand.

A thought strikes me and I look down. However, the gobling—although wearing a pyjamas—is not wearing one of Simel’s size. It’s too small.

I look back up and find another one in the doorway. “A—ah…”

My eyes fall on its sleepwear. Decidedly not Simel’s size. It’s even smaller than the one I’m still holding. Since I don’t have much use for it anymore, I toss the one in my hand to the side and move for the second one. As I walk towards it, it spins on its heel and sprints down the stairwell, tripping across its own tiny feet to tumble down the stairs, crashing into a heap at the end of the stairs. I hear a little crack as its ankle bends in the wrong way. I calmly follow. Pyjamas. Maybe they have some in the cupboards? I’ll have to check later.

The tiny thing is now dragging itself towards the door, though its advance is soon hindered by the one I left there as a doorstop. It gives a whimper and tries to grab hold of what I assume to be its father’s shoulder, shaking and trying to pull him back to consciousness, which obviously doesn’t work since that goblin is very much expired by this point.

I step close enough to where my shadow falls across its tiny body. It looks up at me, eyes glistening and a look much like that of Simel’s burning into me. I blink down at it. Then, I put my foot atop its back, pressing it in place with only a fraction of my body weight, which in this case is apparently enough to crack a few of its matchstick-thin ribs. While I’m holding it in place, I bend down and pluck its father from the ground. Lo and behold—he’s wearing a pyjamas! Unfortunately, though, the entire front part is drenched in blood, something I know Simel isn’t a big fan of. Darn it. Should’ve killed him in a less creative way, I suppose.

Something suddenly bites into my foot and I look down to find the little gobling desperately gnawing on my sole, eyes burning with dark tears.

I toss its father to the side and lean down, picking it up with routine ease. It practically growls at me, like some sort of little beast.

“L—let go of me!” it cries. “You—you demon! You killed my—”

Ah, oops, my finger slipped. With just a flick of my long claws, the little thing’s head goes rolling. I throw the rest of it to the side and trudge upstairs. Pyjamas, pyjamas… I root through the cabinets and cupboards for a minute or so.

…Oh, here it is! It’s basically just a tunic made of some thin, coarse fabric, but it is certainly better than whatever it is he’s wearing right now. I think this one would be the right size? I pick the one that’s a bit large just in case. If he doesn’t like it, he can always get changed once he wakes up. Yup, yup.

With my prize in hand, I move back over to the bed. For a second, I imagine that he’s breathed his last, that his heart isn’t beating anymore, that he’s finally been laid to rest. But those horrible thoughts are gone once I notice his chest slowly rising again. Phe—ew. Scared me there…

Now, it isn’t exactly polite of me, but to put him in pyjamas, I first need to remove, you know… all the rest. I’m sure he’ll understand why I had to do this once he wakes up in his super comfy and airy pyjamas, hehehe.

Trying not to think about too much of anything, I undo the buttons of his jacket, remove the undershirt, the chainmail that can’t possibly have been comfortable… And then, his shoes. Or, at least, I try to remove his thigh-high boots. Even when I had the straps removed they barely budged. But, after a bit of violence, I got them off. And then I understood why he didn’t much like walking.

The entire inside of the boot is covered in a thick crust of dried blood and torn-off skin. His feet are covered in loosened bandages and more red than green. He was wearing a thin pair of socks, but they hadn’t done him any good. The socks themselves are so entrenched in dry blood and sweat that once I pried them off his feet, they could stand straight up on their own. I can’t imagine what the original colour was, because right now, they are a dark, brownish black.

Silently, I remove the rest of his clothing and put him in the pyjamas.

Then, I search around the house a bit before finding a well. I draw a bucket of water, checking its cleanliness before carrying it up to Simel. Using a bit of the cloth in the cupboards, I clean his feet, drying off the blood and the grime and the dirt. I wash the bandages he wore and replace them around his feet, making sure to wash my hands before doing so. His ankles felt weirdly swollen. I don’t think he’ll be able to walk for a while, but it’s not like this floor has a time limit, right? We can take our time.

I draw the covers over him, as well as a bear skin. And for a minute or two, I just sit at his side, watching him, making sure he won’t suddenly die or something. I glance up at the screen above his head.

I look back down at his face. He doesn’t seem so pained now. In the morning, I’ll be sure to feed him vegetarian food. Healthy stuff. Things he’ll be able to keep down. And he’ll get better. I know he will.

I will not let him die.