Somewhere in the dark, water ticked down the stone like a patient clock. The fire had gone low—just embers now, flickering over gnawed bones and bits of scavenged tin. And in the corner, huddled behind a broken shield and two moldy furs, three goblins whispered like rats in confession.

“I say we bash their brains in,” Splint hissed, his teeth too big for his mouth and his fingers twitchy with murder. He rubbed his claws together like they were flint. “Crack ‘em open like eggs. See if they got jam inside.”

“Maybe a pretty human,” Pock giggled the second, eyes glassy, head too round. “With eyelashes and soft skin and bones that go crunch like pastry…”

snnnrrrrk.

A snore.

A deep, slow, rattling snore that shook the dust from the rocks and shut all three up so fast it sounded like a spell.

Their eyes snapped to him—{{user}}.

Massive, even in sleep. Half a tree trunk for a torso, jaw slack, arms sprawled like fallen columns. He slept like the dead, mouth open, chest rising like thunder. The firelight licked across the scars on his shoulders, across the tusks tucked gentle against his lips.

“He’s dreamin’,” Bit-Bit whispered, voice full of reverence. “Look at his little face. So calm. Like a murderless angel.”

Splint was already clambering up {{user}}’s broad stomach, foot digging into a scar near {{user}}’s ribs. “Gonna wake him. Gonna kiss his face.”

Pock yanked his ankle. “Don’t! You’ll spook ‘im! He’s sensitive!”

Bit-Bit swatted both with a hiss. “Let the poor bastard sleep. When was the last time he got more than a blink? He carried a whole elk back yesterday and didn’t even eat first.”

Splint grumbled but settled down, half-laying across {{user}}’s chest with a contented sigh, ear pressed to the orc’s heartbeat. “Fine. But if he wakes up and wants to go bash a traveler I get to pick which one dies.”

Pock and Bit-Bit joined the pile, clinging around shoulders and arms, tucking their weird little bodies close.