There was a young raccoon in the hutch by the fire. She hooked a finger through the mesh, and it licked her hand.
Even the raccoons were friendly.
Nessilka felt that she ought to keep her guard up, because she was in enemy territory, damnit, in the very home of the foe, but it was hard when she was stuffed on the foe’s zucchini bread and the foe’s baby raccoon was slurping at her fingers.
Sings-to-Trees emerged from the kitchen, arms full of pottery. Steam wreathed his face and plastered lank blonde hair to his forehead.
“Your ankle’ll be fine,” he told the goblin, slathering some kind of herbal plaster on it. It made Blanchett smell very strongly of mustard, which was something of an improvement over smelling very strongly of goblin. “Now drink this.”
Blanchett eyed the mug of murky brown herbs warily. “How do I know you’re not trying to poison me?”
Sings-to-Trees sighed and dipped a finger into the mug, then slurped the liquid off it. “There. Happy?”
“Well, now you’ve put your finger in it!”
Nessilka figured it was time to intervene. “Private, I know for a fact you haven’t washed your hands since the war started. You have no business complaining about anybody else’s fingers. Drink the nice gunk already.”
Blanchett rolled his eyes upward, possibly appealing to the authority of his teddy-bear. After a moment, he grimaced. “He says to drink it.”
“Listen to the bear. The bear is smart. Also, that’s an order.”
With a much-put-upon expression, Blanchett drained the mug.
“Huh. Tastes like rat squeezins’ with too much honey.” He considered. “Can I get the recipe?”
“Get outta here,” muttered Nessilka, aiming a swat in his general direction. Blanchett dodged with surprising agility and hobbled out in good humor.
“Thanks,” she said to Sings-to-Trees.
The elf waved dismissively. “He didn’t try to bite, kick, or gore. He’s already an improvement over most of my patients.”
She grinned. She couldn’t help it.
He passed her another mug of tea. “It might taste like rat squeezins’, mind you. Whatever a rat squeezin’ is.”
She rolled the liquid around on her tongue. “You’re probably happier not knowing. Anyway, tastes like mud and rancid sticks to me.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That means it’s good.”
He nodded. “I remember. Took me awhile to get used to the goblin…err…courtesies.” He gestured with his own mug.
“Really, thank you,” she said. “It’s damn decent of you, feeding us and letting us stay here for a few days. We were—well, we’re not really cut out for the woods.”
“I’m glad to help.” Sings-to-Trees stared into his own mug, possibly looking for the elusive rat squeezins’. “Anyway, if the town really is deserted, I’d be glad of company.”
“Thanks for that, too,” Nessilka said.
“Hmm? For what?”
“For not immediately assuming that we’d done something to the people in the village. You didn’t even ask. That…I appreciate that.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ve known too many goblins. They’re…crude, and sometimes they’re a bit wicked, but I’ve never known them to be vicious. It surprised me to hear there was even a goblin war.”
“We had to do something!” she bristled.
He nodded. The silence stretched out while he ran a finger over the tabletop. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry your people were driven to that. I wish there had been another way.”
“Heh!” Her laugh startled them both. “That’s the first time anybody’s apologized.”
Odd little words, “I’m sorry.” Nessilka found that she didn’t feel any better about the war, but she did feel a bit better about Sings-to-Trees.
“So—you said there was magic? Some poor wizard sent you?”
Nessilka nodded. “I think he was trying to escape the battle, but we all came with him. It knocked him out cold, anyway.”
Sings-to-Trees gave her a worried look. “What did you do with him?”
It was embarrassing, but she suddenly found herself afraid that she might disappoint the elf, which made her feel defensive. “There wasn’t much we could do,” she snapped. “We couldn’t very well take him with us, and when a bunch of goblins show up at a human town with a human body, people tend to shoot first and not bother with the question bit at all!”
He was silent. Nessilka sighed. She had to stop snapping at him. He took it all as patiently as he probably took having manticores vomit on him, but it wasn’t fair. He was one elf. She couldn’t make him stand for every elf that had ever been on the other end of a sword from her.