Alpha's Cursed Twain
The goblins were less than half my height; their eyes sharp and assessing.
One of them, slightly taller and with a crooked nose, sniffed and scowled.
"This place is barely standing," he grumbled.
Another goblin kicked at the floorboards with his contemptuous voice resonating in the air. "Rot! What witch would permit this?"
I lifted an eyebrow. "Must be a busy one."
They appraised each other, and in silence, they went to work.
For hours, they gouged out rotten planks, shored up the ceiling beams, and replaced the broken door with thick oak, carved with faint protective runes. Hammers were pounded into the wood, saws cutting the wood and slowly the walls got replaced with a stronger one.
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