Lance stayed up late, sohow, he was unable to sleep properly, the hard floor padded with light bedding doing little to comfort him. He sat cross-legged near the flas of a small camp fire, poking idly at a stick as the heat ward his face. The goblins had retired early tonight, leaving the camp shrouded in a rare calm.
His body jerked slightly as he heard faint footsteps. He glanced up to see Lia approaching, her tall, feminine fra moving with a deliberate grace that always seed to command attention. She wore a cloak of woven leaves and beads atop her usual ragged clothes, her yellow eyes reflecting the firelight with an otherworldly glow.
"Couldn't sleep?" Lance asked as she sat down across from him.
Lia shook her head, her gaze fixed on the flas. "Rest doesn't co easy when the weight of a tribe rests on your shoulders. At least, my mind has gotten used to that." She said.
Lance studied her for a mont, noting the weariness in her posture. Lia had stepped down as leader, but it was clear the responsibility still lingered heavily in her mind.
"I can imagine," Lance said softly. "You led them for so long. It must be hard to let go."
"It is," Lia admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But the tribe needed change. They needed you."
Lance shifted uncomfortably. "I'm still figuring things out."
Lia smiled faintly. "That's all any leader does."
Lance took note of her perculiar attire, it was the first ti he had seen her wearing it.
"Are you so kind of magician? Perhaps a sorcerer?"
Lia delayed her response as she reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a small bundle of dried herbs. "Sothing similar."
Lance watched curiously as Lia threw the herbs into the fire. They crackled and hissed, releasing a fragrant smoke that coiled upward like ghostly tendrils. The flas shifted, their orange hues deepening into shades of green and blue before returning to normal.
"Our people," Lia began, her voice taking on a lodic cadence, "were not always as we are now. Long ago, the goblins were a scattered race, fighting among ourselves and living in the shadows of stronger beings. But we were not without our gods."
"Gods?" Lance echoed, leaning forward slightly.
Lia nodded, her eyes distant as if she were peering into the past. "The Old Ones. Spirits of the earth, the forest, and the stars. They guided us, taught us to survive. But as the world grew harsher, we began to lose our way. The Old Ones grew silent, and we were left to fend for ourselves."
"Our tribe, like many others, clings to what little we rember of the Old Ones. We honor them through rituals, through the hunt, through our very survival. But their voices… they are faint now. Not many rember or care about them either."
Lance could hear the sadness in her tone, a deep-rooted lancholy that spoke of more than just spiritual loss. She spoke with a tone that would suggest that she was around during these old tis, though, Lance knew it wasn't possible.
"Do you believe they're still out there?" he asked gently.
Lia hesitated, her gaze falling to the fire. "I don't know. Sotis, in the quiet monts, I feel their presence. But other tis… it's as if we've been abandoned."
Her vulnerability caught Lance off guard. Lia was always so composed through out the days he had known her. Yet here, in the firelight, she seed smaller sohow, her calm deanor masking a profound loneliness.
"You carry a lot, huh?" Lance said, his voice soft.
Lia's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I suppose I do. It cos with the role."
"You're not alone in this," Lance said firmly. "You've got the tribe, the elders… . You don't have to carry everything by yourself anymore."
Lia looked up, her eyes eting his. For a mont, the guardedness in her expression faded, replaced by sothing softer.
"Thank you," she said simply.
The conversation turned lighter as the fire burned low. Lia began to share stories of the goblins' spiritual practices, her tone more animated now.
"We used to have great ceremonies," she said, gesturing with her hands as if painting the scene. "Dances around the fire, offerings to the Old Ones. Of course, I never got to witness any of that during my ti. They say the shamans of old could call forth their blessings, bring storms upon their enemies or guide the hunt to success." Lia explained, a ting of excitent in her tone.
"That sounds… incredible," Lance said, his mind racing with images of the rituals she described.
"It was," Lia said, her smile tinged with nostalgia. "But those days are long gone. Now, our rituals are small, simple. A reminder of what we once were. Most of the ti, I'm the only one conducting them."
"Maybe they can be more than that," Lance said thoughtfully.
Lia raised an eyebrow. "What do you an?"
"You said the Old Ones taught you to survive, right?" Lance said. "Maybe their lessons are still there, even if their voices aren't. The rituals, the traditions, they could help the tribe connect to their past and find strength in it."
Lia studied him for a long mont, her expression unreadable. "You think like a leader," she said finally.
Lance chuckled as he wasn't expecting the complint.
As the night deepened, the conversation turned quiet again. Lia leaned back, her gaze fixed on the stars above.
"You know," she said after a long pause, "it's been a long ti since I've had soone to talk to like this."
"Haha, too?" Lance said, a taint of lancholy in his voice.
Lia turned to him, her expression softer than he'd ever seen it. "Thank you, Lance. For listening. And for… being here."
"Of course, anyti." Lance said, his voice sincere.
For a mont, neither of them spoke, the quiet crackle of the fire filling the space between them. It wasn't much, but it was enough, a small, shared mont in a world that demanded so much of them both.
For a brief mont, Lance felt as though both of them had grown a little closer, but the feeling didn't last.
'Why in the world are goblins prettier and sexier than all the girls I've ever t in my life?'
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