Chapter 6

The trees thin and suddenly I’m in the village proper.

Goblin dwellings rise around me—squat structures of mud-brick and thatch, built to a scale that makes me feel grotesquely oversized. Dozens of goblins emerge from doorways and workshops, their greenish faces turning toward me with expressions ranging from curiosity to satisfaction. Children—barely two feet tall—point and laugh, their voices high and bright.

Christ. An audience.

Omar keeps me moving at that same high-stepping gait, reins firm in his clawed hands. My thighs are still damp with piss. The harness strap between my legs has rubbed me raw from two hours of constant friction. The bells on my nipples announce my arrival with obscene cheerfulness, and drool continues its steady stream down my chin, spattering my exposed breasts.

A female goblin—older, with elaborate braiding in her dark hair—says something sharp to Omar. He responds without slowing, guiding me toward the largest structure at the village center. I catch fragments of their exchange, tone if not words: appraisal, value, quality.