A goblin stood in front of a stone pot, constantly stirring its contents with a wooden stick.
Inside the pot was a thick mixture of all kinds of indescribable food. Even at a glance, he could make out wheat grains, berries, grass seeds, beetles, and big green caterpillars.
As the flames heated the ingredients, they reacted in strange ways, and waves of peculiar, pungent smells drifted out with the smoke.
But the goblin took a deep sniff, as if smelling the most delicious food imaginable, and wore a look of bliss.
Though goblins had small brains and simple minds, they still understood the importance of fire.
By keeping a fire burning in the hearth, the tribe could cook whenever they wanted and keep their den more comfortable during the cold winter.
If the fire in the hearth ever went out, they would have to steal flames from a human village, which was a real hassle.
At the thought of humans,
the goblin cooking the meal began to drool uncontrollably.
The food in the pot before him suddenly seemed far less appetizing.
But as he dwelled on it, another image he could never forget suddenly popped into his mind.
It was a fragment of memory occupying one of the few corners of his brain.
A group of tall humans wielding sharp weapons had easily wiped out the tribe he once belonged to. His fellow goblins had fallen one after another amid flashes of blades and splashes of blood.
Under the gaze of those devilish figures, the goblin had shamefully cowered before the cold crossbows that could slaughter his companions with ease. He and a few other goblins had fled into the forest without looking back, running farther and farther away.
In the end, after traveling an unknown distance, they had settled