250 Words: Little goblin at the battle’s end

Following the defeat of the Overearthers, the little goblin ran under the ever-extending shadow toward the area where the Goblin Infantry had fought.  He charged, in fact, down the slope, faster and faster until he lost his balance and tumbled down instead, springing up at the bottom to run forward through scores of dead and dying bodies, the latter crying out in pain or for their mothers, all issuing a final prayer for themselves and their loved ones back home soon to be living under the shadow.

He skipped over limbs and heads and other body parts that littered the battlefield alongside the being they had once been a part of.  Before too long the little goblin found his switcheroo friend face down, a dagger in hand that he’d taken from his boot after giving up on the sword that he had swapped his bow and arrows for.  It had served him alright, the dagger, slitting a throat or two and finding a gap in the ribs of the thing that slew him.

The little goblin turned his friend over to see a look of fear- the eyes seeming to focus on something distant and horrible.  The little goblin shivered and closed the lids.  Then he started to cry- just a small stream at first rolling down his cheeks.  Then his shoulders shuddered and he broke down, holding his friend’s body and whispering a thousand apologies until a scaly claw gripped his shoulder and the little goblin’s new life began.