Facing the kitchen cabin door, I recall Milga’s antics and shake my head while removing the cross beam. Pausing, I overhear no movement within and push upon the door, which creaks open.

On the floor, amongst a bed of furs Zana and Gato lay either side of Zebia, pregnant bellies confining the huntress. Their content long nose faces almost too precious to disturb but disturb them I must.

I gently grasp Zana’s shoulders and rock her away from Zebia until the pregnant goblin lays on her back. Repeating this with Gato, she also continues to sleep, I surmise they are both catching up, the Smith Hob waking them before dawn to leave the Head Village early to account for the poor condition of the forty. Next my meaty hand covers Zebia’ mouth and nose, moving her head slowly from one side to the other. Two shakes and she is alert and awake. I whisper to her to be quiet. Releasing my hand, I then extend my arm to assist her to stand.

As the furs covering her body slip, a loin cloth, and a breast wrap are all which preserve her modesty. She realises and before she can make a sound my hand goes over her mouth once again and I shake my head. Her eyes go wide, yet she nods her understanding. Upon releasing her she dashes off to fetch her armour.

“Before you dress, are you now ready to fulfill your obligation to your Matriarch?”

She turns to face me, nursing a bundle of leather armour at her waist. “They both tried to convince me of the wonders of letting you between my legs … I just can’t. My mate and I plan to have our babies …”

“What will happen to you and possibly your mate when you return to your Matriarch without my seed in you?”

Her head drops while the bundle of leather armour rises to meet her chin.

“Do or don’t – makes no difference to me, but this is your last opportunity as I have many things to do and can’t wait any longer.”

Tears, she sheds tears …

“Return to your mate, invite him between your legs and hope for a babe, your Matriarch may not find out.”

Tearful eyes look up at me, she wipes them. “The Matriarch sent him to the mountain pass …” she blubbers.

“I am leaving if you don’t stop me. If you do stop me you will need to open your legs, no more hesitation.” I move faster than walking pace towards the door, at this stage I would be better off not wasting my time.

As I reach out to pull the door open, I feel her tug at my arm and stop, releasing a heavy sigh. There is no preparation, no soothing words as I simply spin her about and bend her over, cradling her stomach with one arm, loosen off her loin cloth and my leather pants with the other hand, and then rut from behind as her Matriarch once suggested I do to another of her tribe. My effort being purely clinical and to my dismay requiring twice the usual amount of time to plant my seed.

“I apologise for the undue haste, talk to the other huntresses for a description of how planting my seed in you could have been … better.”

I pull up my pants and leave the kitchen cabin not registering until later her total silence throughout and after the deed.

---

Zeb appears like magic when I need him although on second thoughts, he is trying to organise the feast and the kitchen cabin is a necessary building to make this happen.

“Finished Lord?”

“Not quite, describe the goblin birthing process …”

His jaw drops. He scratches his head next and then asks me to follow him. We arrive before the many goblin barrack houses lining the river. Halting before the one he nominates I knock on the door. We overhear someone shuffling within.

A spry elderly goblin answers the door, who then bows deeply upon sighting me, saying, “Lord Hob you honour me with your visit, how can this pitiful goblin assist you?”

“Zeb believes you can assist explaining the goblin birthing process to me …”

She grabs for the door jamb to steady herself as I reach out also.

“Lord Hob, while not my place to tell you what interests you or not, goblin birthing concerns only the mother and her child …”

“None help?” I ask.

She twists her face, glances at Zeb and then back to me. “Help? This is a special time between mother and child.”

This explains quite a deal about mother and child birthing mortality. How does a goblin mother give birth and care for both lives while alone? Are goblins animal like, primitive in this exercise?

“Explain this special time, enlighten your Lord Hob,” I say, my voice earnest.

“Come in then, no point letting those walking by to eavesdrop, neighbours either side bad enough.”

“Lord, I have duties elsewhere … Zoxa please meet me at the Boar Spit when done.”

I smile at his cowardice. “You attend to them. I feel more than safe in Zoxa’s capable company.”

He nods and then sprints away! I shuffle past the mature age goblin and decide to sit on the floor, elbows resting upon the knees of crossed legs.

“Lord, there is a chair …”

“I am sure I can cope, enlighten me.”

High in a chair I would intimidate her without even trying, on the floor our eyes are level with each other, even though she nests upon high on a well-worn chair. To my surprise, no small talk, immediately into explanation and I can only assume she wishes this done as soon as possible.

“The mother feels the pangs of birth developing and knows she needs to find her private place. Most mothers have found this place many days beforehand, so any rush depends upon the distance they need to travel. Depending upon the work they have been assigned a mother may delay until the upmost moment, childbirth is no reason to neglect your duties.” She shakes her head side to side fervently after this statement.

I try to remain passive, digesting the fact she truly means this and simply wave her on to continue.

“Once she has found her place her body will tell her when to push. The babe will either slide out or be stuck. Most hope for the former, because the later means they must keep trying until exhaustion and usually death of mother and child. Assuming the baby slides out, the mother will twist the belly tube attached to the baby. If the twist is good the baby won’t bleed from there and live. Sometimes though bleeding can happen immediately or even days later, which usually means the child will die. The mother needs to put her baby to one side, because she needs to follow the baby’s belly tube back to her own innards and carefully pull out the baby sack. Once done the baby is usually fed from the mother’s teats next. The mother can stand not long after and if her duties allow, she can inspect the baby sack to make sure it is complete. Anything incomplete means her body held onto sections of it and she will have days to adopt her child out while she waits to die.”

A tumultuous rage builds within me, not Hob, which in fact is sedate and accepting of the goblin childbirth mortality, the disgust is purely of Human origin and yet I must stay the course …

“How many children have you given birth to Zoxa?”

“There have been many tries with past Farmer Hobs either not taking or the pangs of birth coming too early. One of mine died when the cord twist came loose, a girl. The other two, both males and useless, died on a hunt and then the Farmer Hob declared me too old for his seed.”

I need to escape the barracks, somehow the air in the room isn’t enough any longer. I lurch towards the door, Zoxa asks about me, I forget her exact words. Then fresh air hits my face, I pause at the doorway to collect myself and before I dash off, I manage a quick thank-you to Zoxa. The Hob in me laughs; these are just goblins, while my humanity suffers from this truth ... I have been many creatures and yet for all their different shapes, sizes, sophistication, and level of civilisation all value mother and child.

The loss of life over the years massive, not only newborns of course, what of the mothers … This also explains the reason why every female goblin is impregnated and the stronger than expected lust which surrounds the goblin community in general, without this why would any female run the risk of becoming pregnant. Such a crazy ecosystem … to confirm this absolutely you would need to find a goblin society which existed without Hobs and therefore pure to study procreation and childbirth like any other beast on the planet. Perhaps the tribal goblins are closest to this ideal.

The cool water of the river flowing over my feet and the splashes upon my face from cupping water in my own hands return me to normal, whatever normal is now after listening to Zoxa. There is something broken, either the reality of goblin childbirth or her recollections, possibly a combination of both as the mortality rate from what Zoxa’s believes is the childbirth process would ensure the goblin race’s extinction, yet it survives even when slaughtered by Hob overlords without reason. The Farm doesn’t have domesticated animals for the goblins to learn from, they only had themselves; Zana and Gato would be the first under my watchful eye. Months away, give or take most of the female goblins of child baring age within the Farm will go into labour because I couldn’t contain a primal urge within the Farmer Hob me … all within two days. Perhaps this rush is why mothers must care for themselves and then rush back to servitude. The few goblin children on the Farm proof of poor yields from past harvest seasons …

I feel about for my boots. Where I left them and how I ended up sitting on the riverbank, both lost memories. They aren’t nearby, yet once on my feet and wandering back up the riverbank I find them and put them on. The barracks stare down at me … since that night, I haven’t returned … I can’t say I have deliberately avoided them yet my visit to Zoxa is my first since then. A shiver begins to travel down my back which is snuffed out instantly by my Hob self. My cringing posture corrects, which I am unaware of until the Hob within straightens my spine, while a guttural rumble from deep within challenges the barracks and celebrates the slaughter as a victory without reservation or sympathy. I strut past the rest of the barracks with confident ease and goblins who spot me either bow in respect or close their doors before I pass their barrack.

The feast preparations carry on around me as I stride in a direct line to my cabin. Once inside, I equip my armour and with spear in hand I head out of my cabin door in a blink, the details escape me. I need … to kill, a Hob solution for my Human feeling of disgust. Several bodies stand in my way, Koria is one, I recognise her as I barge past. The grip on my spear tightens as the Farm entrance comes into view and not long after is behind me. The Hob in me celebrates this freedom, I lift my spear above my head and roar.

---

I thrust again, the flesh of the beast doesn’t flinch and perhaps this lack of response brings me back. The slain boar is huge, and I don’t remember a single moment since raising my spear above my head outside the farm gate. Red blood drenches the forest floor, our martial contest trampling a generous circle, brush, and saplings swept away by the fury of our clash. Exhaustion hits driving my upper body down to lay upon the forest floor, my hands sliding down the blood drenched spear shaft yet refusing to release. The dead eyes of the boar continue to stare from a shaggy head resting upon my lower body, the hot furry torso trapping my legs. I inspect my current state. Several gashes ooze black blood, others have congealed. A slab of flesh on my outer thigh flaps back and I grit my teeth as I push it back into place. The Hob within me is sated, quiet. What now? My eyes roll back …

---

Blinking my eyes, they resist opening. I don’t smell blood or forest, yet I am warm … I drift off to sleep.

---

I dimly recall water dripping into my mouth on previous occasions, yet in this instance I am aware and able to open my mouth in welcome. In response the drip bloats into a steady stream and for the first time in a long time, I drink my fill. The nanorobots celebrate by accelerating their work.

---

The drag of a cool damp cloth over my face competes with sharp screeching orders to wake me.

“Slap him, he isn’t dead and owes us a protector!”

A quiet reply. “Yes mother.”

I catch the arm on the downswing, my assailant’s lack of determination the main reason.

“I am awake, speak.”

“You slew our beast. Therefore, you must protect us.” The screech no longer a scream, the irritation to my hearing nevertheless remaining.

“What tribe are you from?” I ask, while my eyes try to focus and inspect my surrounds.

“Tribe? Foolish Hob, we hide from them all, safe behind our guardian from a long line of guardians.”

Did the huge boar protect them? A pet of sorts?

“Your boar attacked me, not the other way around …”

“Why didn’t you run like all those before you have? Are you stupid Hobgoblin?”

My eyes find her. Weather beaten leathery skin, fading green, a dark maw full of broken teeth spitting word after word. I grunt to sit up. A loud crack upon my forehead from the crone’s walking stick lays into me and I am back amongst the furs of the bed.

“You are still weak and at our mercy stupid Hobgoblin and before you regain your strength you must swear to protect us or die instead.”

I groan and loll my head about attempting to meet her expectations.

“Mother, is he dying?”

“The moment we are born we are dying girl, stupid though tends to make that come sooner rather than later. Come. Leave him to recover from the blow and we will negotiate with him again tomorrow.”

I wait for their bent over shuffling and chat to fade and lean over hopeful. A wooden bucket of water and a cup hanging from it reward my inquisitive gaze. With every effort left to me I guzzle the entire bucket of water and lay back content.

---

“Come girl, today we demand terms so watch and learn.”

Her screech is like an alarm bell, yet worse. Unnecessary though as I have been awake since pre-dawn waiting in silence and ready to pounce.

The tap of her walking stick proceeds her entry into my domain. Upon the first searching footfall I roll over on my side towards her until my eyes look back over my head into hers. The wide surprise almost reward enough. Before she can react, my hand is around her throat, while the other prepares.

The swing of her walking stick expected and yet I forgo blocking her weapon of choice, instead grabbing the wielding arm.

“Surrender or I break your neck like a twig.” I loosen my grip enough for her to reply.

“How did you recover so quickly? From near death …” There is awe in her voice.

I shake her. “Surrender or death?”

“S … surrender …” Her walking stick drops with a clatter.

Weak daylight reveals the low ceiling above me, my hunch is correct. The elder would be bent over from age, the daughter though needed another reason. I release my grip upon the elder and roll onto my stomach. She waits, body shaking in place.

“Climb down and I will follow.” I search her face for any sign of betrayal, resistance, but shockingly, find none.

As her head sinks below the floor level of my recovery room I roll back to my bed and griping the ledge swing my legs over and after a moment of hang, drop to the true floor of the cave. The three female goblins with spears behind the ladder recover from my arrival as I advance upon them. I am inside the reach of the spears one shaft managing to slap against my upper arm as I push one female into the other two causing a tangle of arms, legs, and spears. Reaching around the ladder I grab the elder by the neck and pick her off the ladder. She doesn’t protest, her eyes closing. Her daughter clings to the ladder, awaiting my judgement.

The reducing sunlight draws my attention towards the single doorway, several goblins, in the main adolescent females crowd around gasping and pointing, an occasional shout and name calling.

A hand grabs at my leg. “Release mother, please.” I glance down into tearful eyes and withdraw my strike, relaxing my fist.

I look down upon the females trying to untangle themselves. “You three stand, take her with you.” My head nods towards the daughter. “Walk slowly towards the doorway.”

Leaning close to the elder I whisper directly into her sagging ears, “How many live with you?”

There is a spark of defiance in her eyes now. “Many, even you can’t slay them all …”

“I don’t see that I have to.” I shake her slightly, while bending down to pick up one of the three spears, all fire hardened tipped with thin shafts. I shatter one striking the wall of the cave, flaking off an already loose rock which I pick up while grabbing a replacement spear.

She hisses, “We will slay you in your sleep …”

“Where is my armour and spear?”

“You won’t need either when dead …”

I heft my spear within view of her peripheral vision. “How many will this spear pierce if thrown towards the crowded entrance?”

She tries to glance back at me, my grip upon her neck prevents her.

“You can’t …”

“Where is my armour and spear?”

Her head bows down. “Your spear is still in our guardian as we didn’t have the strength to pull it out. Your armour is with others in our tribe trying to study the crafting …”

“Forward.”

Approaching the entrance, the general hum of cursing and protesting rises. The growing crowd backs off though given my threat, forming a semi-circle as I stand upon the threshold. There is the odd adolescent male, most are females from every age toddler to teenager and young adults.

“Where are the adult males?”

“They stay and enjoy our company until deciding to try and return to their tribe or rule us. They always fail.”

I chuckle. “Do you rescue some from your guardian or distract your guardian when runaways come your way perhaps?”

“Yes, although we can’t always rescue everyone, the males especially unless fear dwells in their eyes.”