In the heart of the Goblin village, nestled amidst a maze of shabbily-built huts, stood a tent that was larger and more regal than the rest.
I found myself inside it, seated on an improvised stool. Before me sat an older Goblin, his countenance heavy with years of leadership and wisdom, and beside him was a young Goblin girl, her eyes wide with a blend of fear and awe as they darted between the older Goblin and myself.
Their tent was distinctly different from the rest; the interior was lit by a soft, gentle glow from a fireplace in the corner while oddly shaped artefacts, presumably of importance to their culture, adorned the walls. The floor was lined with an array of mats and cushions, the fabric worn with age yet surprisingly comfortable. There was a sense of warmth and homeliness in the tent, a stark contrast to the chaotic scenes I'd witnessed outside.
