The dark night had completely swallowed the forest. The rustling wind made the foliage tremble, and the whispers of nocturnal animals added a sort of natural darkness—almost comforting, in a way.
It was already quite late. The time for rest had come for the diurnal creatures. Even the hobgoblins from the right-side village, despite the hunger gnawing at their bellies and the troubling absence of their hunting party, had resigned themselves to sleep. They had to conserve their strength for the next day.
All the females had retreated to their tents. The males, more resilient—or maybe just less inclined to seek comfort—remained outside, watching over the village. Someone had to take care of it.
One hobgoblin in particular patrolled in the heavy silence. Now that everyone was asleep, he moved with cautious steps, constantly glancing over his shoulder. Eventually, he slipped behind a boulder at the back of the village.
