I'm standing outside in the dark in front of a heavy wooden door, the door is part of an adorable cottage on an idyllic little farm. The adjacent pumpkin field even has a cute goblin-sized scarecrow. 
It's hours after sunset and I've been standing here barefoot for 15 minutes, slowly trying to build up the courage to knock on this particularly nice door. 
The occupants are probably asleep, and I don't know anything about them except their last name, religion and that they would probably want to help me.

I turn back down the road, it's too much for me to inconvenience strangers at this hour.
Ten steps down the path and my stomach protests my recent negligence in feeding it. When was the last time I ate? Was I fed while I was unconscious?
I walk back to the door and knock hopefully just loud enough to wake the occupants without seeming ruder than necessary. 

It's a quirk of our biology. Goblins, especially she-goblins, are strongly food motivated. If it's a matter of going hungry or imposing on strangers, any goblin girl will ask for food. We are similarly anxious if there's food going to waste or even if there's just food in front of us that we aren't allowed to eat. Apparently, it's linked to our reproductive system. Goblin women have a two-stage reproductive tract. Which means we can essentially have two loaves in the oven at once. Once we're pregnant, when the baby is halfway through term or later, we can get knocked up a second time. Then after our first is born and the second is still only half baked we can get knocked up a third time, etc.
This double pregnancy mixed with our short gestation means that before the ancestors wrote the traditions (and popularized contraceptives), it was common to see goblin women constantly pregnant, a baby in each arm, and a few toddlers running around their knees. I've heard goblin populations are still like that on the mainland. Honestly, I think the stories about the wild mainlander goblins are scarier than stories about ogres. But the possibility of needing to eat for two separate pregnancies and a baby on each nipple means a goblin woman always feels the need to eat as much as possible whenever possible. And we hate feeling hungry more than anything.

My thoughts are interrupted when an elderly goblin man opens the door holding a fire poker like a sword. He takes one glance at me before he lowers his poker and walks back into the house, leaving the door open behind him. He yells in Picklish "Annette! There's another stray for you!" 
Through the door, I see a very homely kitchen. The man begins using the poker to restoke the embers in the hearth before placing a kettle on.
"Well? Are you coming in child? Annett will be dressed in a minute." He looks at me expectantly, "Whatever happened to you, you're perfectly safe here."
I'm not sure what to do other than to follow him in. "Thank you sir," I say in Picklish while stepping inside and closing the door behind me, no point being rude.
A goblin grandmother wrapped in a linen dress in the Southern style enters through a passage, she doesn't slow down at all as she makes a beeline towards me.
"Oh look at you, you poor dear! You're all scuffed up!" She reaches me and puts both her hands on my shoulders while looking me over. I think she was probably a bit taller than me when she was young, but age has curved her back enough that she's just a tiny bit shorter. If I had to guess I'd put the man and Annette in their early 80s. 
Annette is inspecting my wounds while muttering. "Cuts on the face, handmarks on your kneck, bruises, broken arm... Whatever happened we'll-" She looks at the hand-shaped bruises on my thighs, visible from the bottom of the shirt I'm using as a dress.
She makes a sad noise and her long ears droop a little. "Well it doesn't matter what happened to you anyway, come sit down, have you eaten?"
"No ma'am." I let her direct me to a chair at their table.
"Oh call me Auntie dearie. Oscar put the kettle on I'm going to the larder."
"Ahead of you dear." Says the man named Oscar.

A few minutes later I have buttered bread, tea, dried figs and smoked fish in front of me. I eat while Annette and Oscar make small talk with me about the Southern Archipelago. They immigrated from a small island there, called Popswudge over 50 years ago just after they first got married. I'd never heard of Popswudge, but it sounds quite similar to my Perrifare.
The elderly couple are gentle and quiet with me. I might say it was unnecessary, that I'm not so emotionally fragile that I need them to walk on eggshells around me. But the last month has been hard, maybe some people would want to act tough, but not me. I want to be able to be vulnerable with them, I want to feel safe and I want to not think about arranged marriages or homelessness or Gordon. And so instead we talk about the South. Popswudge sounds nice. The goblins there are bluish rather than the reddish more common on Perrifare. 
Eventually, I finish eating, and the elderly blue-skinned goblins bring me to their room to sleep. Auntie sets up a mattress for me next to the couples'. Soon I'm wrapped up in wool and falling into the most peaceful sleep I've had since I became an adult only a month ago.

Three weeks later I'm fighting fit again. Goblins heal quickly and besides a few sore spots on my arm and wrist and a scar hidden in my hairline, you would never know I was injured. 

I'd spent the first few days here resting and recovering. Then as my wounds improved I began to sew with Auntie and turned my loot into undergarments, socks, 2 new dresses and a pair of leather boots. I added a hood to my purple shawl turning it into a cloak. 

Once my arm was better I began to help Oscar around the farm, I was a farmer for 20 years after all. Auntie and Oscar own this land and after their children and grandchildren moved back to the Southern Archipelago they've been hiring a young goblin named Petir to help. Who lives alone in a small cottage on the edge of the farm. They grow pumpkins, cabbage, carrots, figs, pomegranates, plums and a small rye field. They also have 6 goats they use to make cheese and to sell the kids.
Right now it's only Petir and I helping but as per the beliefs of their cult, the Dirtytoe couple often have 'strays' like me around to help them. 

I love it here. The Graboshen countryside is beautiful, I love how sweet and chatty Auntie is, I love how kind and gentle Oscar is, and well, I think I want to fall in love with Petir too. 

Last week I began pushing the cart for Auntie as she goes to Grabosh City to sell fresh produce every other day. The Dirtytoe's farm grows a small amount of crops with staggered planting times. That way they almost always have a small harvest to sell at market each week. 
Yesterday we harvested plums, pomegranates and the last few heads of cabbage of the season. Today I'm pushing the hand cart next to Auntie as we walk to town. I greet Earny at the historic wall, that's the name of the 'guard' I met, and then a few hundred metres further into the city we arrive at a square courtyard used as one of Grabosh's hundreds of marketplaces. 

We don't have a stall as such but the manager of the marketplace has chairs we can borrow to sit on, and Auntie's cart has a white and red canvas roof, so the produce remains out of the hot summer sun.
We set up and then sit next to the produce. Most people here, customers and sellers alike are local and have been coming to this marketplace their whole lives. Absolutely everyone here knows Auntie. She chats to customers in Graboshen while I listen and try to commit as much of the language to memory as I can. 

Auntie and Oscar both speak Picklish at home usually, but kindly agreed to speak Graboshen whenever I'm near to help me learn. Petir is a rare islander with only one langauge; Graboshen, so I'm trying to learn as quickly as possible.
I listen as Auntie talks with a local roof-tile maker about an orcish couple in Auntie's cult, who're adopting a goblin baby soon. The Cult Of The Infinite is a rather strange group. They don't worship anything as much as they just organise get-togethers and charity funds. Apparently, the only real requirement to join is to believe in uplifting one another. Auntie and Oscar for example help the destitute like me, while others in their congregation like to teach slum children reading or do home visits for the elderly. Which I think might include Auntie and Oscar soon.
Apparently their next meeting is in a few weeks, I've been invited and I think I might go.

I see a local orcish granny start setting up a table where she lays out her crafts, last week she was selling some lace ribbons. I excuse myself in Graboshen and wander over without trying to look too purposeful. I'd brought the money I'd stolen from Gordon with me today, with a specific purchase in mind. 
"Good morning ma'am" I greet her in my broken Graboshen.
"You would be Pimple of Perrifare,  Annette's new ward." Oh. I didn't realise I'd been talked about.
"Yes ma'am." At least people who don't speak Picklish can't understand my name.
"Good, I hope you're helping them both out, Oscar is far too old to be running a farm. Even with Petir there. Maybe when Petir's married and there are kids on that farm again helping out. Really it's criminal that the Dirtytoe children left their parents like they did. They even went so far as the southern isles! Poor Annette can't even visit her grandchildren when they're that far away! Where are your parents love? South I assume, your accent and clothes give it away. You're not from Popswudge too are you? No, you're far too pink. Pickland maybe? Anyway, I always liked how colourful you goblins are. My nephew married a goblin girl, a beautiful shade of orange, she is...."
Thirty minutes later she finally gets to the point.
"And I did tell her that, but oh she wouldn't listen. Anyway, what were you looking for today love?"

I just learnt a huge amount about the Graboshen language.

"Well, I like this ribbon. How much would it be?" The lace ribbon in question is pink a few shades darker than my skin. I do in theory know how to make lace, but it's very time-consuming and it would be years before I could reliably make a design as complex as the one I want. Woven in linen are designs of incredibly delicate flowers surrounded by wreathes of leaves and thorny stems.
"Oh how sweet, so who's son are you after?" She cackles. I suppose it's not that hard to guess why I want it, there's not that many reasons a woman my age buys lace. "Oh it isn't Petir is it? Oh, you're more red than pink now, don't worry love, I was your age once, I'll be hush hush. Normally that would be a nail'20 but for young love, I'll give it to you. Just tell me if it works well later dearie."
Ugh, no secret is safe near chatty old women.
"Now run along dear, I think Annette is done speaking with Paulo so she'll want help packing up now."
I bow, take the lace, and wish the chatty old she-orc goodbye.

Auntie gives me a look that says she also knows what I bought and why, but doesn't say anything as I carry the chairs back to the supply room where the market's manager keeps them.

A few hours later I'm in my room putting the finishing touches on my new sewing project. Everything's ready, I just need to find my courage and do it.