Weeds Meads and Steeds PDF

W E EDS, MEA DS, & S T EEDS
hands and feet allowed them to wield all the same weapons with the same
deadliness. Toble was slightly shorter than most other goblins, and had a
preference for using two daggers in combat; choosing to rely on his nimbleness
for defense rather than a shield or armor.
Toble's head resembled a squashed pumpkin, and his face was full of
wrinkles with flaps of skin that drooped down as if partially melted. His long
sharp nose jutted outward like a rocky ledge from the side of a cliff, jagged and
filled with hidden crags, possibly housing tiny critters of which even he was
unaware. His dark eyes were like pieces of coal jammed between the flaps of
green skin, and they quietly surveyed the hot barren desert to the west for signs
of travelers.
Finding nothing but the blistering hot sun beating upon barren sand dunes,
Toble cringed with pain at his unfortunate situation. For a moment, he displayed
his heavily crooked teeth, like rows of small pebbles surrounded by a blanket of
green moss, but closed his mouth to avoid the stench. Normally, a goblin's teeth
would fall out and be replaced with new ones, but since there was no food, they
festered in his mouth and slowly rotted.
Coughing out the bitter taste of decay, he tried to remember what meat
tasted like, it's texture, heat and softness, and how the juices ran down his chin.
Toble snatched up an old chicken bone that laid on the ground nearby and stuck it
in his mouth, only to promptly spit it back out. The chicken flavor had been
sapped entirely and it tasted like a dusty dried twig.
Rotating the object in his hand, the wary goblin soon realized that the stupid
thing was a twig, and only resembled a chicken bone for a moment. Starvation
had made everything appear like food, a terrible condition that painfully
increased his hunger. Even the smooth round stones at his feet began to look like
fresh fruit when he squinted his eyes just right.
Tossing the stick away in disappointment, Toble turned to his exhausted and
depressed allies and said what they all thought.
“We need a good chicken farmer to come this way.”
Glob, the goblin to Toble's left who laid stretched out upon a smooth rock,
shook his head in disagreement. He was the quietest of the group and was a
stargazer – a common nickname among goblins because their thoughts were
elevated and indiscernible to most of their kin, and also because they often
looked up into the starry night sky in astonished wonderment. But since they all
starved, Glob was more talkative than usual and didn't care about the ridicule he
might incur for his opinions.
“I knew we should've kept a few chickens alive and breed 'em,” Glob sighed
heavily, “then we would be eatin' now.”
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