The water was cool against Alrik’s rough skin. He scrubbed with his homemade soap, cleaning every inch of his lanky body. The others never cleaned themselves in the river. He was always alone, and he was fine with that – it was how he liked it.

He was taller than the other goblins. But he was only half-goblin. His pointy ears gave the rest away.

His mother Grima rarely spoke of his elf father. A strange coupling, but it was somehow romantic whenever she told the story.

With a satisfied grunt, Alrik splashed his face. The water spoke to him – not with words, but with feelings. But on this morning, the water wasn’t particularly complementary, and he scrubbed himself harder.

A bird chirped and he looked up. A splintered branch floated down the river – must’ve broken off from the dam. A bird was sitting on it but chirped happily when it saw Alrik and flittered to his shoulder.

“Alrik!” His mother called. The bird flew off.

“Mother.”

“Hurry! You be late!” She winced when she saw him in the water. She spun and left, not caring for the mud on her feet.

He tugged his ears and trudged out of the water. He started drying himself but paused. He whipped his head around and peered between the trees and cabins. Someone was watching.

He shook his head. He couldn’t be late again.

It was time for the hunt.

**

The goblins clambered through the woods. Alrik groaned every time dirt splattered his loincloth.

“Always deer. Always!” One goblin moaned.

“We used ta have fish, ya know,” Another complained – Alrik’s brother, Groll.

“I hear tha clan up hill gets fish.”

“Ya mean tha clan ‘tother side of water fence?”

“I believe it’s called a dam, you imbecile,” Alrik corrected.

“Shut up pointy ears,” Groll spat.

Alrik’s step faltered and he hunched.

Another goblin stepped in a puddle, splashing Groll.

“Arrrr!” Groll screamed. “I drowning!”

Alrik grabbed his shoulders and shook.

“Calm down!” He urged, wiping the water from Groll’s face. Groll shrugged him off and kept walking.

Alrik stepped noiselessly between the trees and split off from the group. He rounded a bend and saw his prize: A large deer. Big enough to feed the whole clan.

As Alrik approached, the deer watched him, but did not run.

Alrik pulled out his knife and put it to the deer’s neck, but hesitated.

He sighed, rubbed the deer, and sheathed his knife.

“What are ya doin?” Groll screamed, barrelling toward him. The deer hopped away. “Why ya let it get ‘way?”

Alrik’s shoulders slumped and could only mutter a resigned sigh.

“Why can’t ya do normal job?” Groll accosted. “Ya failed in tha mines coz ya kept bumpin’ ya head! Gah! Pointy ears!”

As they returned to the village, Alrik felt someone’s gaze. From a shadowed doorway stood a hunched old goblin, her skin wrinkled but her eyes bright and wide with wariness.

**

“Like rock?” Alrik’s mother asked as they sat down for dinner.

A shiny red rock was next to Alrik’s plate. Another was by Groll’s, who beamed.

“Thank you mother. Of course I like it. I always do.” Alrik lied. His mother giggled. Rocks were special to her.

The air was thick as they ate in silence – turnips, salted spinach, and spicy cabbage – broken only by Groll’s recounting of the hunt.

“Ya more like father than I care ta accept,” Grima whispered, gazing at Alrik. “But how I miss him…”

Alrik smooths his hair and rubs his ears.

After another reminder of his day’s failure, Alrik quietly pushed the remainder of his food onto his brother’s plate. Groll looked at him and grunted, scoffing the food into an already full mouth.

Suddenly the quiet was pierced with the sound of alarm bells.

A goblin barged through their door.

“Tha dam has burst!” He announced breathlessly.

**

Alrik, Groll, and Grima rushed outside into a calamity. Goblins were running in every direction, panicking.

“Do somefink useful, Alrik, for once in ya life!” Groll shouted after the noise.

A goblin rushed passed him, arms full of clothes.

“We run!” Grima called out. “Grab stuff and go!”

That seemed like everyone’s plan, bodies rushing and crashing into one another. Leaving their home, fearing for their lives.

Groll burst out, arms full and eyes wide. Alrik was shaken – he had never seen his brother scared.

“Tha water!” Groll cried and ran off.

But Alrik didn’t run. He sensed something – he sensed the water. It called to him.

He walked through the crowd, bending around him as he went, and waded into the water. He was distantly aware of others stopping to look at him, his mother calling out to him. The old crone watched carefully.

He touched the water and felt the onrushing calamity. But he also felt…a peacefulness.

Alrik fell to his knees in the cool water, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t aware of what was happening – all that existed was him and the water.

A cacophony erupted as water crashed around the bend toward the village. Everyone screamed, but Alrik remained.

The water rushed toward them, inevitable and powerful, flooding the shore.

But then it crashed against an invisible wall, Alrik sighing as it did so. The water diverted around the village, roaring as if alive, straining against the wall. Alrik tensed.

Moments later the water was calm, and so was Alrik. The village was now upon an island, and it was safe.

Alrik looked around himself. Goblins stared back, fearful. The old crone shook her head.

He met his mother’s tear-filled eyes as she whimpered, “Oh no…”

**

Weeks had passed and Alrik now lived by himself in a small hut on the edge of the river.

He learnt to catch fish, which he delivered to the village. No one thanked him, but his mother left him shiny rocks.

The sun rose beyond the mountains and the waters sparkled. Alrik waded into the river, standing straight. He felt the water between his fingers, caressing him, embracing him.

As the sky was drowned with orange, his lips curled into a smile and he closed his eyes. He splashed his face and let out a scream.

It was a joyful sound, a sound of love and inner peace, and he collapsed into the cool water where the fish swam.

© 2025 A.K. Chidgzey. All rights reserved.