Green
He winced and pressed on the wound. He was too exhausted to move, his body draped over a low wet stone, it stank of the moss that clinged to it, mixed with his blood. He tossed his head to and fro looking for his pursuers. He could see the dark trail of blood that glowed in his vision then clenched his teeth and tried to stand.
Above, crouched at the lip of the jagged white rock was a creature about the same size. Its eyes wide with wonder having never seen a goblin up close before. It clutched its shepherd’s crook and trembled slightly in the morning chill.
The boiler waited until the goblin’s breath grew shallow and then snuck down, foot over foot and sideways into the low creek bed. As it reached the bottom a wave of humidity came up from the direction the goblin had arrived. It followed the trail of blood into the dark hollow and out of sight.
Boiler, the goblin slid an arm along the stone and grasped but could not reach the shepherd.
It spoke in broken language but the boiler could understand the words, take, and destroy. It clutched a burlap satchel in its other hand, tried to unsling it but panted and grew even more pale. Licking its blue lips, it could not get free of the thing.
Sound now grew in the distance, something shuffling in the dark woods. The hoot of an owl but it lasted a little too long. Something was coming.
The shepherd reached down and the goblin’s arm fell limp. It twisted the satchel around its curled arm and got it free. Then, hopped up the hill and hurried across the clearing, looking for its dog as it skipped through the forest and back home.