Burn buzzed away. Mallara sighed, eyed her
tattered clothing, and glared at the thorn-bushes peeking through
the tree-trunks. "Let's go," she said. "We'll find supper and new
clothes in the next village."
Pots and his goblin hesitated. Mallara
watched the boy gaze back at the smoking creek-bank and the rushing
water and the cool, shaded woods beyond. Pots may have been
overworked and ill-used, mused Mallara, but Bertat was home, and
leaving home was a moment Mallara remembered all too well.
"It's time to say goodbye," said Mallara
softly.
Pots wiped his nose on his sleeve, turned on
his heel, and marched toward the woods, his goblin at his
heels.
Mallara smiled a weary smile, patted her
staff, and followed slowly after.
THE END
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