• Giblet swore under his breath. He had been stuck in this accursed forest for over two hours now. His so called “friends” had left him tied to a tree after he had attempted to carry off more than his share of a dead man’s treasure. Not only had the dribbling little vermin taken away his loot, they had also taken his sword and had thrown pig dung at him. He now resembled the chocolate coloured bark that was sticking into his back.

    The rutting little fools would pay for his embarrassment, however. As soon as he got loose of his bonds he would throttle every last one of them. A crow the size of a small child chose that moment to float down ominously to the forest floor. It’s tiny, beady eyes surveyed the grimy goblin. His green nose stuck out from his makeshift helmet, a dented saucepan, while his filth encrusted feet flapped uselessly below him. The crow let out a pretentious call, its eyes never leaving the wretched creature.

    Spreading its wings as if it was the High Emperor himself the bird glided casually to land on the Goblins crooked nose. Giblet resisted the urge to sneeze. With all the precision of an axe wielding Northerner the crow hacked the Goblins ropes apart, the bird taking savage delight as the sinews of rope mingled with the Goblin’s blood and fell to the floor.

    Giblet fell to the ground in an unceremonious heap. Muttering angrily as he pulled himself up the Goblin searched for the crow, intending to bash its skull in with a nearby pebble. The bird was nowhere to be seen. In its place stood a woman; hair the colour of midnight fell softly over her alabaster skin while sparkling eyes gazed at the greenskin through a flawless face. A delicate, satin garment of the purest silver lay draped across her slender frame while gems the colour of blood lay across her neck.

    Giblets mouth was wide open. Muttering something about “pig dung,” the goblin started forward, his eyes unfocussed, his arms out and a line of drool crawling down his chin. The woman giggled; a sound akin to the chime of the finest crystal in a lord’s mansion. Twigs were entwined in the woman’s hair, her feet covered in leaves. As the Goblin reached the fey lady a shaft of sunlight pierced the forest canopy, framing the pair in a strange parody of a tapestry woven by the maids of the King.

    As the Goblin raised a wrinkly arm his fingers stretched nearer the goddess’ pale skin. His crusty fingernail was barely an inch away when the women let out a scream, the sound of which caused several squirrels in a tree behind the Goblin to drop down dead. Too late did Giblet realise his folly. As he darted around to escape the Dryad he felt a branch slam through him.

    The Dryad tossed the goblin aside, his corpse landing beside the petrified squirrels. As her arm moulded back into its beautiful, human form the Forest Spirit turned around and glided back towards the trees, the gems around her neck glowing ever so slightly brighter than they did before.