A small note before you read further: This post combines today’s and yesterday’s work, because there was something that needed to be revealed in one go.
We have fled, and flown well,
Not dwindling towards the end,
But now I feel I must tell,
The price we are about to spend.
The passage we have left,
Had familiar scratches,
From the time when it was cleft,
This mother knows whose claws it matches.
*The Grieving Goblin*
My mite! My mite!
My dearest little mite!
These marks are surely his, I know!
Towards our captured children,
We must help those young ones!
We must remain cautious,
These marks match his claws, and yet,
The size there makes me nauseous,
How large he’s grown, how large he’ll get.
How has this young goblin child grown so quickly? Is the Narrator withholding further information? What price will we have to pay for joining this journey?