Chapter 60 Trip to The Open Plains

Kaka continued, "We leave the forest. Go to open plains. Much less monsters or nasty creatures, no evil goblins. We can hide from Humans, underground, in caves, they no search there, too hidden. We dug hidy holes and nook cracks in the soil and hid from the prying eyes. Open plains have fewer dangers than the forest, so we should find little peace there. That is the best I can offer."

The hatchlings, sensing the seriousness of the conversation, huddled close to each other. There was Wiggly, the small goblin with bright green skin and oversized ears; Nibbles, the tiny goblin who had clung to Kaka; Ears, the older hatchling missing an ear; Squirt, the one who found the water pool; Snuggle, who had curled up in the moss; Slink, the sneaky one with sharp eyes; Pebble, the smallest hatchling who always found the best hiding spots; Grit, the brave one with a scar on his cheek; and a few more who haven't got names yet.

"Open plains? That sounds scawy," Wiggly said, his voice trembling slightly.

Nibbles nodded, his eyes wide.

"But we are safe if we are all together, right? Big gobbies will protect us, right?"

Grub patted Wiggly on his tiny head.

"Yes, we are safe. Huddled together. We smart. Humans no find us."

Kaka continued, his tone more confident.

"We wait until nightfall. Move under the cover of darkness. Avoid humans and other dangers."

Grill added, "We find food and water on the way. Keep hatchlings safe."

Ears, despite his missing ear, perked up.

"I can help find food. I am good at finding things."

Squirt, eager to contribute, piped up.

"I can carry water! Found pool, remember?"

Snuggle meekly whimpered, "But we are just tiny hatchlings, not bigger than a pebble in the dirt. How can we help, we are so tiny and weak. We not big and strong like big gobbies. We just tiny hatchlings."

Slink, with his sharp eyes, spoke up.

"Snug-snug is right, we are small and weak. We are of no use."

Pebble, the smallest, whispered, "I'm scared. Outside scawy, the cave feels safe. No want to walk."

Grit, the brave one, thumped his chest.

"I protect hatchlings. No one hurt us. I will give them a good lick or a stinky fart!"

I, now fully grown and feeling a sense of responsibility, spoke up.

"Little ones, do not fear. We will take care of you, no need to be afraid. Just try to stay close to one of us, adult goblins, and you will be fine."

After calming the hatchlings, I turned to Grub and asked, "We need a route plan. Grub, you know way, right?"

Grub grinned.

"Yes! Grub knows the way. We follow the river first, then cross a big hill. Plains on the other side. I have been there one time, there was a goblin breeding farm on the edge of the forest, no more now though, adventurers raided it. I escaped it and ended up at Shakar's farm."

With the plan set, we spent the day preparing. Grub scouted ahead to find the best route, while Grill and I gathered what little supplies we could find in the cave. Kaka tended to the hatchlings, making sure they were fed and ready for the journey.

Wiggly approached Kaka and asked, "Kaka, what do we do when we find a new home?"

Kaka smiled gently, ruffling Wiggly's ears.

"We make a new life. Build a safe place. No more running. No more pain or suffering. We will live the life we deserve. A happy life."

Nibbles chimed in, his voice filled with hope.

"We play? We have fun?"

Grill laughed, a rare sound in our life full of hardships.

"Yes, little one. We play. We be happy."

As night fell, we gathered at the entrance of the cave, our nerves on edge but our resolve strong. Kaka looked at each of us, his eyes filled with worry.

"We have to move now. Stay close. Stay quiet. We scuttle in the cover of shadows and tall grass. No one left behind."

With Grub leading the way, we slipped out of the cave and into the forest, the moonlight casting eerie shadows on the ground. The hatchlings stayed close, their tiny feet padding softly on the forest floor. We moved slowly, as one, a small band of goblins to find a new home.

The journey through the forest was pure misery. Every single step felt like it was clawing away at our already pitiful existence, dragging us deeper into the jaws of some cruel joke of a world. The trees loomed above us, ancient and twisted, their gnarled branches reaching out like the fingers of some monstrous creature, just waiting for the right moment to snatch us up. Thick vines hung like nooses from the branches, and the ground itself felt alive, shifting and slithering beneath our feet, always threatening to trip us up, drag us down, or swallow us whole.

The largest of the hatchlings - those poor, fragile little things - shuffled along behind us, their tiny legs wobbling, barely able to keep pace. Every few steps, one of them would stumble and fall, their scrawny bodies hitting the ground with a pitiful thud. And then, without fail, they’d whimper, rubbing their bruised limbs, tears welling up in their big, terrified eyes. But we couldn’t stop. Not for long, anyway. Every rustle in the bushes, every snap of a twig sent waves of panic through our ranks. We knew - we all knew - that eyes were watching us, hungry and waiting. Monsters. Predators. Beasts with fangs and claws, lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce the moment we slowed down or made too much noise.

The foliage itself seemed like it was alive, conspiring against us. Thick underbrush clawed at our legs, slowing us down, and the air was heavy, so humid that it felt like we were breathing water. And that stench - it was everywhere. The rotten smell of decayed plants and the sickly sweet odor of death. Every now and then, we’d pass the remains of some poor creature, half-eaten and rotting, its bones picked clean by something far worse than scavengers. The hatchlings would flinch, their little faces contorted in fear, but what could we do? We couldn’t protect them from what was out there. We couldn't even protect ourselves.

The first real challenge came when we reached a river. It wasn’t some peaceful, babbling brook - it was a churning, angry beast of a thing, the water rushing so fast it seemed like it wanted to tear us apart. There were no bridges, no stepping stones, just the merciless, freezing water, full of sharp rocks and who knows what kinds of creatures lurking beneath the surface, waiting for one of us to fall in. The hatchlings stood at the bank, their wide eyes filled with fear as they stared at the water, trembling. One of them, the smallest, began to cry, his little voice barely a whimper, but it was enough to break your heart.

“We can’t do this,” he sobbed. 

“I don’t want to die.”

But we had no choice. We had to cross. So we waded in, one by one, the cold water biting into our skin like thousands of tiny needles. The current was so strong it nearly swept us away. I had to carry two of the largest hatchlings on my back, their little arms wrapped around my neck, their bodies trembling with fear as I staggered through the water. Kaka took another two, his face grim with fear, though I could see the pain etched into his features, every step an agony as he struggled to keep from collapsing. Grub and Grill wrapped the rest into their ear cacoons and crossed as well.

We made it across, somehow, but the jungle on the other side was even worse. The underbrush was thicker, the air heavier. Every few minutes, we’d hear something moving in the shadows - something big. The hatchlings were terrified, their little bodies huddled together, trying to stay close to us. One of them, the one with the bright eyes, kept looking up at me, his voice shaking as he asked, “Are we gonna be okay? Are we gonna get out of here?”

And what could I say? “Of course,” I lied. 

“We’ll be fine. Just stay close.”

But we weren’t fine. Not at all. We were starving. Exhausted. Every step was a struggle. Our stomachs ached with hunger, and the hatchlings - those poor little things - were starting to fade. One of them collapsed, too tired and hungry to go on, his tiny body limp as he lay there on the ground, his chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths. We tried to wake him, but his eyes fluttered closed, and a quiet whimper escaped his lips.

"Wreeee.... wreeee..."

“We can’t leave him behind,” Kaka said, his voice a whisper of despair.

“Hurry Kaka, we have to carry him,” I replied, my throat tight.

 “If we stop... if we stop, we all die.”

The jungle didn’t care about our suffering. It pressed in around us, the air growing colder, the darkness thickening with each passing moment. The sounds of the creatures - those terrible, nightmarish beasts that we could only imagine - grew louder. Closer. And still, we trudged on, our bodies aching, our hearts heavy with despair. The hatchlings clung to us, their tiny hands grasping at our ragged clothes, their faces wet with tears.

One of the older hatchlings - a scrawny, wide-eyed little thing - stumbled and fell, scraping his knees on the sharp rocks hidden beneath the leaves. He let out a pitiful cry, his voice hoarse from exhaustion.

“I’m scared!” he wailed, his voice cracking.

 “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to be eaten by monsters!”

We tried to comfort him, but what could we say? The truth was, we were all scared. We were all on the edge of breaking, every one of us teetering on the brink of despair. But we had to keep moving. If we stopped... if we let the fear take over, we wouldn’t make it through the night.

So, we pressed on, our feet dragging through the mud, our bodies aching with every step. The jungle stretched on endlessly, a dark, suffocating maze of twisted trees and underbrush, with no sign of escape. We were lost. Hopelessly, miserably lost. And yet, we kept going, because what else could we do? There was no going back. There was only forward - through the endless, terrifying dark, through the cold and the hunger and the fear - hoping, praying, that somehow, against all odds, we’d find a way out.

But deep down, we all knew the truth: we were as good as dead. And the forest was just waiting to claim us.

As we dragged our exhausted, scrawny legs through the treacherous terrain of the forest, we stopped just for a moment to catch our breath. The dense foliage and uneven ground had made our journey even more arduous. Kaka was visibly struggling. The grotesque torch that had been stuck in his butt like some obscene tail for over a week had taken its toll. His belly was bloated with feces and other nasty things that had built up inside him.

Kaka fell to his knees, hatchlings tumbling from his arms, and began to vomit, his body wracked with convulsions. The stench was unbearable as he farted and expelled a buildup of excrement through his mouth as his butt was plugged with the torch. He gagged and squealed like a tortured animal as his body tried desperately to rid itself of the filth that could not exit through the blocked passage.

I rushed to his side, my heart pounding with fear and concern. I helped him up when he was done, trying to offer what little comfort I could. Kaka managed a weak smile, his eyes glazed over with exhaustion and suffering. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, a massive pair of jaws closed around his body.