Chapter 12 Ren
Ren
“Even the tallest tree was once a sprout.”
But with a trick of the light, both shadows can be just as long.
GOBLIN RESPONSE TO AN OFT-USED ELVEN PROVERB
Ren looked down at the skull resting in the palm of their hand and frowned.
For any goblin, it would’ve been the perfect gift.
Bird skulls were notoriously fragile, and this one was almost entirely intact, the only flaw being a small, barely noticeable chip near the left orbital bone.
A truly lucky find! The only problem was Ren didn’t want to give it to a goblin. They wanted to give it to Pansy.
Funny how quickly things had changed. A month ago, their thoughts had been consumed with plot after plot, so determined to emerge the victor when it came to the deal the two of them had struck that Ren had even gone so far as to help her with her little competition – or at least, that’s how they’d justified it to themself at the time.
But now that the Harvest Festival was fast approaching – the pumpkin Pansy meant to enter grown fat and round off a steady supply of growth potions – Ren discovered that their conviction was not nearly so resolute as it had once been.
Somehow, the (very real) prospect of Pansy winning – and then leaving – sent a cold shock skittering beneath their skin.
Dread, probably; though it didn’t make any sense.
Ren ought to want this: the cottage rendered theirs and theirs alone.
It would be better for the clan, they’d reasoned, back when the first rumble of unease had roiled through them, as much a precursor to disaster as the suffocating stillness that followed a predator through the woods. Except that wasn’t true either.
For all of Pansy’s faults, in particular her self-described “uselessness” in the garden, she always tried.
Yes, she worked slowly, planting one row for every three of Ren’s and weeding even more slowly than that; but she tried.
This was the flip side to so-called “halfling stubbornness”: sheer perseverance.
And every time she went out into the garden and tended to the seeds they’d planted together – exactly as she’d said she would – the wall Ren had built around their heart crumbled a little more.
Now, it was nothing but a pile of rubble, and Ren – Ren liked her.
Against their better judgment, of course, but they did.
And more than that, they wanted her to stay – or, at least, come back to visit.
Now, if only they could tell her that without, well, actually having to say it.
The mere attempt alone would surely kill them, and what good would that do?
Hence the bird skull. A gift.
But would she even like it? Ren wondered, brow furrowing as they lifted up their prize to the light.
They’d done a good job of cleaning it; they always did.
And the Diamondback Potion had added a subtle luster to the delicate bone on top of strengthening it.
Ren could imagine the skull as part of a necklace or, perhaps, a brooch; something to cinch a cloak shut against the wind.
It’d look good either way. The envy of goblins everywhere.
And yet, it was also completely unlike anything Pansy owned.
Whether this was a good or a bad thing, Ren didn’t know.
But as they looked from the skull to the various decorations Pansy had filled the living room with over the past several ten-days, from the colorful, crudely knitted doilies stacked atop the log-side table to the painted glass baubles that dripped from the ceiling on near-invisible wires, Ren started to suspect that it was most likely the latter.
“What are you doing?”
The sound of Pansy’s voice, coming up from behind them, nearly sent Ren shooting right up into the rafters.
They fumbled with the skull for a moment, miraculously managing to keep their grip on it, before shoving it into their pocket.
Couching themself in their best attempt at nonchalance, they turned around and said, “I thought you were outside.”
“I was,” Pansy said, with a knowing sort of slowness as a familiar dimple dug into her left cheek, “until approximately thirty seconds ago. The pumpkin is looking splendid, by the way. But what are you doing?”
“I’m…” Ren floundered, their gaze darting around the room, frantic as an animal scrabbling for purchase atop rain-slick stone. “I’m looking at your books!”
The words slipped out before Ren could stop them, their mouth thick with the cold slide of panic.
It took everything in them not to grimace, knowing that they’d only managed to secure their own downfall.
The first excuse that came to mind rarely was the best – or even good, for that matter.
So why had they seized on this one without a second thought?
Ren braced themself for the inevitable Why are you looking at my books if you can’t read? A question for which they’d have no answer. And yet, the question didn’t come.
Instead, Pansy hurried over to Ren and the bookshelf situated behind them, her expression a scintillating beacon of delight.
“Which books?” she asked, not so much gesturing as flailing.
“Was it this one? Ooh, it should be! This one’s the best!
All the Wolf Banefoot books are good, mind you.
But he goes up against a dragon in this one!
Hard to get more exciting than that, don’t you think? ”
“I… suppose,” Ren answered haltingly, their eyes flicking over to the book in question, bound in a dark green leather that had been embossed with a scale-like pattern; an attempt to mimic dragonhide, no doubt.
“Have you started reading any of them?” Pansy asked, undaunted in her enthusiasm. Did she really not know?
“No, I—” Ren cut themself off with an aggrieved sigh, their fingers closing around the skull, still hidden in their pocket. They couldn’t lie to her. Not about this – or, well, anything, it seemed. “I can’t read.”
For once, Pansy’s expression was inscrutable. She blinked. “What?”
“I can’t read,” Ren repeated, hating the way their face started to burn at the admission.
They had no reason to be ashamed. Goblins didn’t use paper.
Never had. Why would they, when it would simply molder in their underground homes, damp and dark as they were?
And still, when they told Pansy all this, it wasn’t to inform, but to justify, as if their inability to read was a fault for which they needed to apologize.
They couldn’t even blame Pansy for it. Her tone was entirely neutral when she nodded her head, then asked, “What do you do if you want to communicate with someone far away? I assume you don’t send letters because, you know, paper.” She laughed.
“We use ravens,” Ren explained, the tension pulling across their limbs unwinding just a fraction. “They’ll repeat any message, provided it’s not too long.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened. “That’s amazing! I had no idea ravens could speak. But what about when you want to record something like a story? Surely, even the shortest ones are too long for a raven to repeat.”
Ren snorted out a laugh, the gentle curve of their mouth softening the otherwise harsh sound. “Do halflings not have storytellers?”
It was now Pansy’s turn to flush. She ducked her head, tucking a stray curl behind one rounded ear as she looked up at Ren through lowered lashes.
“When I was younger, my grandmother would read these books out loud to me at bedtime, but I suspect that’s not quite what you’re talking about.
She was rather good, though; she did voices and everything. ”
“Voices?” Ren arched an eyebrow.
“Yes. For all the different characters. It was”– Pansy’s blush deepened – “very entertaining. As a child.”
“Then perhaps a goblin storyteller is not too different from your grandmother. Every story they tell they tell from memory – and with more than just a few voices to help bring the tale to life.” Grinning, they waggled their fingers in what was apparently a universal sign, given the way Pansy’s eyes immediately widened.
“Like… with magic?” she asked, her voice a barely restrained whisper.
“Or a variety of illusory potions.”
“Wow,” Pansy breathed, her expression going slack, as if entranced. “Do you think, maybe – that is, if it’s all right; I wouldn’t want to impose…”
Ren pressed their lips together, smothering a laugh. Honestly, it was almost cute, the way she’d twisted herself into knots over a simple request. As if Ren could ever tell her no; that much had been an impossibility, even from the start. “There’s usually a storyteller at the Goblin Market.”
“Which will be…?”
“Soon.”
“Ugh!” Pansy deflated, all of her bright-eyed hope and excitement whizzing out of her in an instant, replaced instead by a petulant scowl. “That’s what you said three ten-days ago.”
Ren shrugged again. “I have about as much control over the market as I do the weather. Complaining to me won’t change anything.”
“I know, I know,” Pansy grumbled. The scowl, however, didn’t budge. “I’m just – impatient, I suppose.”
“You ‘suppose’?” Ren repeated, eyebrows arching.
“Stop! You know what I mean,” she said, laughing as she gave their arm a playful shove.
It had been barely more than a second of contact – and not even skin-to-skin at that – yet still Ren felt as if their entire world had been upended. They sucked in a sharp breath, their throat constricting in time with their awareness, now narrowed to single, hand-shaped point atop their biceps.
Touch me again, they wanted to say. Lighter.
Softer. Lower. But they couldn’t. Their mouth was too dry, their tongue too heavy.
All they could do was swallow thickly, their fingers curling around the spot Pansy had touched, still pulsing with lingering heat, perfectly replicated in the flush that spread across their cheeks.