"By the way," I said over my shoulder, "have you seen Granny Flogga?"
She didn't respond.
Instead, she let out a low harrumph and strutted off in the opposite direction, her tail flicking behind her with exaggerated annoyance.
Fair enough. I deserved that reaction.
I let out a long sigh and continued the search myself. No use chasing after a fox with an ego the size of a hill.
Fortunately, a pair of the newer goblins were more cooperative. After a brief exchange—mostly consisting of pointing and muttered directions—I made my way toward the far end of the settlement.
That's where I found her.
Granny Flogga.
She was exactly where I should've guessed she'd be—right in the middle of organizing a communal meal, surrounded by the steady bustle of goblins preparing ingredients.
A large fire was being stoked beneath an iron pot the size of a goblin hut, suspended over the flames with thick branches reinforced by stone.
