Natural Magic

Chapter 5 - Tall Tales

"Pointing at the ground I told the filthy goblin, 'Not another step! Or I will be forced to use my magic on you. I will defend myself to the death.' But it was stupid and must have thought I was lying."

Chicken had arrived home, to the village in which he had been hatched and raised. It was the village they called Very Small Numbers. The name was largely due to a cross-lingual misunderstanding, the founders borrowing words from invaders. The invaders had expressed difficulty in finding kobolds in "very small numbers", and so the kobolds took the concept as one of a kobold paradise and promised land. Whether or not the name indeed acted as a lucky charm, these kobolds had for many generations enjoyed the peace resulting from being undisturbed by aggressors.

Wasting no time, he had secreted his scavenged treasures in his safe spot. Later he would deliver his gift of ant eggs to his Auntie.

As he had meandered home, he had stopped to exploit nature's bounty. It was no hero's feast, but the hodge-podge of little treats had sustained him. The goopy innards of a succulent plant here, a brown slime-mold there.

He had even had the good fortune to find some ants while he was collecting tinder.

Digging his hand into the humid dirt, he had turned it over, revealing a chaotic mess of tiny chitinous bodies. Their tiny ant minds had been seized by insectile panic. Among the shiny black roiling mass, Chicken had located the white ant eggs, the larvae of the ants, some of which already in the process of being carried back into the dark.

Warriors had bravely defended the nest. They sprayed the invader with formic acid. The infantry charged, taking their menacing mandibles to the enemy.

The defense was to no avail. None of it could penetrate Chicken's scales.

While he had scavenged, he had thought about the encounter with the goblins, replaying how he had been captured, how he had escaped, and how he had narrowly avoided being pummeled and left for dead in the wastelands.

He had played with the memories like they were clay. Three goblins grew to fifteen goblins. They all had two-inch long fangs. He wondered if he could get away with adding a manticore to the mob, but considered that a step too far. Instead, he added five more goblins, and then all that was left was to show it to someone.

Before him sat a half dozen children, the oldest at least a generation younger than him. They listened with varying degrees of amusement. Most had the air of having nothing better to do.

"At my command, the ground began to tremble! I could tell it scared the monster because its evil sneer was gone. When suddenly," and here Chicken mimicked the explosion which had blasted the goblin, startling the younger kobolds.

He shrugged and concluded, "It was gone."

One of the young kobolds scoffed. Chicken recalled his name was Brufon, a young buck freshly beyond the age of naiveté and proud of it.

"You can't face down goblins," he said. It was accusatory. A personal attack.

"I can too," Chicken rebutted. "I can and did." Kobolds having not invented witty repartee, this was a clever comeback by their standards.

"I don't believe it. Not for one minute."

Another one, Krepin, jumped in, saying, "Yeah. You told Brother that you scared off a mutant coyote, but it was just a mangy runt." Krepin hung around Brufon like remora hung around sharks, and while it kept Brufon from turning on him, it didn't so him any favors around the village. Despite this, the small crowd seemed to weigh this tidbit unfavorably against their storyteller.

His pride bruised, Chicken fabricated wildly, "It was a mutant, and it only looked like a mangy runt after I was done with it. Anyway, how can I be lying about the goblins if I have this?"