>>6115538Part of Your might be, admittedly, that she’s pretty… Well, for a hungry young gobliness. Prettier than <span class="mu-g">you</span> are… pretty like a part of you wishes you could be. Her cheeks are high, her dark green hair tied tight in a knot at the back of her skull, lending her an austere and important air rare among even well-to-do goblins, let alone this community. He ragged, patched clothes are speckled and spatters with bits of blood and other fluids, but if that’s something to scorn elsewhere, it’s nothing you can judge over-harshly HERE… And soon enough, they become more like a mark of merit.
“I’ve been helping Gen-Grin to deliver the babies we’ve been having,” she says simply. “Any of you gob-girls as has had one knows I did the dirty deed.”
Her expression darkens a little, as she adds: “An’ I’ve done the dirtier one of dealin’ with those who ain’t make it, or for which you weren’t ready with food ta’ feed, wasn’t it?”
The air of levity dissipates about An-Yii like a fog, leaving only the clear, cold air of her implications. There are some subjects which even goblins—ESPECIALLY goblins—take seriously.
“Well,” she says simply, “I’m done. I’m DONE with it. Here me? I’ve done my hours, seen enough suffering for nothin’. We need proper doctorin’, an’ the money for to do it with. Ain’t that right?”
A quiet, ashamed murmur of grudging agreement rippels through the rowd.
“I’ve kept enough of you alive after that, too, or after getting’ cut or breakin’ a bone doin’ your half-assed huntin’ or tomfoolin’ about. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” the goblins agree. You find yourself agreeing too, if only to go along with them and be a part of the experience.
“You’ll need me for the same reason,” An-Yii announces, to you and to your sister.
You flinch at the certainty of her assertion, and at the piercing yellow of her gaze. In truth, with your Monstrous Regeneration> (a hand-me-down spell of your ‘creator’, or perhaps an inheritance of your ‘father’) you’ve never really needed a medic…
But ZZ might.
You look suddenly to your sister with concern, as much to break the unsettling eye-contact with An-Yii as to gauge her reaction. Her eyes are narrowed, arms crossed over her chest. You can imagine—and half-remember—the unpleasant experiences running through her mind, of those times when she—you—were wounded in the Goblin Wastes, during the ‘bad old days’, and forced to walk and fight on injured limb, or to sweat out an infection. When you’d traveled with Tips, it had been different, but…
“More’n that,” An-Yii concludes, “if you two give two shits about ANY of these gobs, you’ll need me to get good, and bring that experience back. Right?”
