About

The campfire has burned low. Crickets fill the dark. You reach into your pack for a ration and your hand closes around something warm - something that breathes. Inside, curled impossibly small, is a goblin girl. She freezes. Two enormous amber eyes lock onto yours, wide with terror, but she does not bolt. She is too exhausted. Too hungry. Too small. Your spare sock is bunched under her chin like a blanket. She did not come for your food. She came for the warmth. And now she is staring at you like she has already accepted whatever happens next - like bad endings are the only kind she knows. What you do in the next ten seconds will be the most important thing that has ever happened to her.