Sword Maiden watched from the altar steps, one hand resting on her staff.
"I did. The grates are reinforced. But the priestess reported a missing goat from the eastern pasture three days ago."
"Goblins don't sleep," he replied, running a whetstone along a short blade. Shhk. Shhk. "They wait. They watch. If I sleep too deeply, they win."
"Yes?"
"I think everything is goblins until proven otherwise."
"...You think goblins?"
He walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the iron latch. Sword Maiden watched from the altar steps, one
Sword Maiden tilted her head. "You noticed that? During the five minutes you watched him train?"
"Cheese. The farm girl sent it. Said the temple shouldn't rely only on offerings." He set it on the bench. "Also. The boy you're teaching. The one with the limp."
"He holds his knife wrong. Reverse grip is for close caves, not open fields. He'll cut his own thumb if a goblin rushes him." But the priestess reported a missing goat from
He stood, slipping the blade into a sheath at his lower back. For a moment, he hesitated—a rare thing. Then he reached into a pouch and pulled out a small, wrapped bundle.
"You could stay for supper," she offered quietly. "The sisters make a fine root stew."