they hung among the stones of the henge.


    The vault of the heavens held its usual allure, only diminished by the little Goblin that peaked between its stones. One of those that had come before.


    “ARE YOU LOST, LITTLE CHILD?”


    “I’m not to be here, father says.”


    The god moved out to the outer boundary of the perimeter of standing stones. This far they could go, and not a breadth longer. In this shape, without the aid of a living companion to walk with theirs was the body of a thousand glittering sparks.


    “You are pretty.”


    “AM I NOT?”


    “You are,” the small red Goblin spoke, as all children must do; without artifice, without guile.


    “YOU FATHER IS WISE, FOR THE WOLVES OF THE PLAINS ARE EVER HUNGRY AND YOU WOULD BE AS A MORSEL FOR THEM.”


    “You would protect me.”


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    “WOULD I?”


    “One day,” the girl said, her blue eyes filled with faith,”I will be your paladin.”


    her. The memory warred with what they could last recall, that small window in the tower. There, they had felt certain arrogance, and a thing that was quite darker. Madness.


    The Golem…?


    Steward of…