THE HOBGOBLIN OF GRIMTHORN HOLLOW
Chapter 2: Southward Bound
As the sun rose over the heath, golden light spilled across the rolling hills, turning the morning mist to silver. Kalo locked the sturdy wooden door to his humble home beneath the great oak and adjusted his pack. He had prepared for a journey that might last weeks—plenty of provisions, his hunting knife, and a few trinkets that might prove useful. Sprig, the ever-watchful Green Asp, coiled lazily around his shoulder, its emerald scales gleaming in the dawn light. Beside him, the enchanted broom drifted along, hovering just above the ground as if eager for the road ahead.
Kalo whistled a merry tune as he walked, his feet finding the rhythm of the land. With each step, he realized how much he had missed the thrill of adventure. The last two years had been peaceful, but a part of him had always longed for the open road, the unknown dangers, and the stories yet to be told.
His path turned southward, winding past clusters of gorse and heather, their purple flowers swaying gently in the morning breeze. The heath was alive with birdsong, the chatter of larks and finches filling the air. Further in the distance, the ground rolled like the back of a sleeping beast, rising and falling in gentle waves. The scent of damp earth and wild thyme clung to the wind, a promise of spring.
Lukan’s river home was still two hours away, but as Kalo crested a small hill, a familiar figure appeared on the road ahead.
Lukan Otterpaw, ever prepared, strode toward him with a heavy pack slung over his shoulder and a long spear in hand. His sash bulged with smooth river stones, ready ammunition for his well-worn slingshot that dangled at his hip. His fur gleamed from a recent swim, and he carried himself with the ease of a creature born to travel.
Lukan raised a paw in greeting. “Kalo! Sprig, old friend! I hear from a weathered tinker we’re bound for the southern heath.” He winked, flashing a toothy grin.
Kalo laughed as they clasped forearms in greeting. “Aye, seems I can’t go too long without a bit of trouble calling my name.”
They fell into easy conversation, exchanging theories about the Hobgoblin of Grimthorn Hollow as they walked south together. The land stretched wide before them, an endless sea of golden broom and wild lavender, with low stone walls snaking through the heath like the ancient veins of the earth. The wind carried the distant scent of pine, a sign they were drawing near the southern woods.
Lukan chuckled as he kicked a loose stone down the path. “You remember those weasels up north? The ones who tried to claim your oak as their den?”
Kalo smirked. “Aye, took three of them to figure out I wasn’t moving.”
“They weren’t too happy about Sprig, either.”
Sprig lifted his head lazily at the mention of his name, flicking his tongue before settling back down.
As the sun dipped lower, they made camp near a quiet spring, laying their swags beneath the open sky. The stars stretched wide above them, the air rich with the scent of crushed heather and warm earth. Sprig curled beside Kalo, his warmth a steady comfort as the two drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
They awoke early, greeted by the chirping of robins flitting between the thorn bushes. Lukan wasted no time in gathering mussels from a nearby stream, cracking them open over a small fire. Kalo passed around a bottle of blackberry wine and a few heather cakes, their sweet, nutty taste a perfect match for the morning chill.
Bellies full, they continued on their way. The heath stretched before them, untamed and free. The memories of their past adventures wove into their conversation—the narrow escapes, the quiet victories, the weight of old losses. Kalo found himself thinking of those who had not lived to see this peaceful morning.
By midday, the rolling heath began to give way to wooded country. The air grew cooler, richer, filled with the scent of moss and damp leaves. The road narrowed, hemmed in by gnarled hawthorn and elder trees, their branches clawing toward the sky like old fingers.
Then, a rustling in the undergrowth.
Kalo and Lukan slowed their steps, instincts sharp.
Four figures emerged from the shadows ahead, stepping onto the road with unhurried confidence. Cloaked in rich russet and deep brown, their tails twitched, and their sharp eyes gleamed beneath the wide brims of their feathered hats. Foxes. Highwaymen, by the looks of them.
One, a tall, lean fellow with a silver-tipped tail, tapped his cane against the ground, his grin lazy and sharp. “Well now, travelers! What luck! The road is long, the day is young, and fortune smiles upon us. I do believe you carry something of interest.”
Another fox, shorter but broad-shouldered, cracked his knuckles. “It’d be a shame to part you from your coin so early in your journey, but—” He shrugged, as if to say fate had already decided the matter.
The third fox, missing one ear, gave a theatrical sigh. “What say you, friends? Share a little wealth, and we’ll be on our way, no harm done.”
The fourth, a silent vixen, leaned against a tree, idly flipping a dagger in her hand. She said nothing, but the amusement in her eyes suggested she was waiting for a good show.
Lukan smirked, rolling a river stone between his fingers. “Kalo, I do believe we’ve been mistaken for merchants.”
Kalo rested a hand on his hip, his expression light but his muscles coiled like a spring. “Aye. Shame, really. I was hoping to make it through the woods without bruising my knuckles.”
The silver-tailed fox chuckled, twirling his cane. “Oh, we’d hate to trouble you. But you see, trouble’s already found you.”
The four foxes closed in, their grins gleaming like knife-edges in the dappled light.
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Chapter 3 - Darkness Within
Lukan spoke confidently to the four highwaymen as they closed in, their paws resting on weapons, their eyes gleaming with mischief and menace. The broom, sensing trouble, darted off into the sky, vanishing into the canopy. Sprig, ever wary, slithered into the safety of Kalo’s waistcoat pocket. Kalo, however, remained still, his hands loose at his sides, his gaze unreadable.
The tallest of the foxes, silver-tailed and sharp-eyed, let his walking cane drop to the ground. From beneath his long trench coat, he produced a blunderbuss, its heavy barrel reflecting the dappled afternoon light. The others followed suit, pulling daggers from their belts, while the vixen stood back, flipping a small throwing knife between her fingers with lazy expertise.
A one-eared fox, dressed in a tattered waistcoat, grinned as he stepped forward. “There’s a tax on these roads,” he said, his voice smooth and full of amusement. “All the gold and silver you’ve got. Ain’t that right, Silas?”
The silver-tailed leader, Silas Gloomtail, gave a slow nod. “Indeed, Vargus.” He cocked his gun, leveling it at Kalo and Lukan. “Now, best not make this difficult.”
Lukan sighed, rolling his shoulders. “We don’t want trouble, but you should know—threats can be dangerous things.”
Kalo just nodded, reaching into his pocket. Lukan did the same. Together, they each pulled out a single silver coin, holding them up between their fingers.
Vargus smirked and turned to the burly fox beside him. “Thrax, what do you think? I reckon they’ve got more.”
The vixen, still toying with her dagger, clicked her tongue. “Enough. Let them go.”
Silas waved her off, the blunderbuss still aimed. “Not until we have it all, Sable.”
That was when Kalo stepped forward.
“I don’t think so,” he said evenly. “We’ve paid our way. Let us pass.”
The foxes laughed.
What none of them knew—not even Lukan—was just how much Kalo had changed.
Two years had passed since the dam, since the loss of friends, since he had realized that strength alone wasn’t enough. Behind the round door of his home, deep in the root cellar, he had uncovered ancient halls—forgotten chambers of the House of White Heather, where old magic slept. He had studied by candlelight, pushing himself beyond what he once thought possible.
He had become something more.
Now, he took another step closer, eyes dark with something unreadable. “You do know the punishment for robbery on the heath?”
Silas raised a brow. “Oh? Enlighten us.”
Kalo’s voice was calm. “Criminals found guilty are hanged.”
The foxes stilled. Even Lukan gave Kalo a curious glance.
Silas wiped his nose and chuckled. “Well, not today. And not by you.”
The gun lifted.
Kalo raised his hand.
A faint blue glow pulsed at his fingertips, bright as a summer flame. Overhead, the hanging vines stirred.
Before the foxes could react, the vines snapped to life, writhing and twisting like a nest of serpents. They shot down with unnatural speed, coiling around the foxes’ arms, their legs—then their throats.
The blunderbuss fired.
The shot went wide, bouncing harmlessly off a tree.
The foxes gasped and choked, their weapons falling from their grip. Their boots scraped at the dirt as the vines hoisted them upward, dangling them inches from the ground. Silas kicked wildly, his silver tail thrashing. Thrax’s eyes bulged, claws digging at the vines crushing his throat. Vargus let out a strangled yelp.
Even Sable, for all her bravado, looked shaken.
Lukan’s face drained of color.
Kalo felt nothing.
Justice.
That was what this was. Justice.
He turned away, brushing the dust from his coat. “It’s done. Let’s go.”
Then—a small voice.
“M-Mother? Father?”
Kalo froze.
From the shadows of the trees, a young fox cub stepped forward. His fur was dark, his eyes wide with fear as he looked up at the four dangling figures, their bodies twitching.
The child’s face was so young.
A sharp pang struck Kalo’s chest. His breath caught.
Lukan was staring at him.
No words. Just a look.
Something inside Kalo lurched.
He exhaled slowly, lifted his hand—and the vines went slack.
The foxes dropped to the dirt, gasping and coughing, hands clawing at their throats.
Kalo didn’t turn back. But his voice was iron when he spoke.
“Your days of robbery are over.” His magic still crackled at his fingertips. “I’ll be passing this way again in a few weeks. Be gone—or next time, I won’t stop.”
He started walking.
Lukan hesitated, then followed.
The sun dipped lower over the heath, casting long golden shadows. Neither of them spoke for a long while, the wind whispering through the tall grass, the world still achingly beautiful.
But something inside Kalo had changed.
And he wasn’t sure if it was for the better.
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