The Last Goblin !!top!! -

Then he turned and walked into the woods. Not to hide. Not to steal. Just to be.

Snikk picked it up. It did not ring. It was broken. the last goblin

His name was Snikk, though no one had spoken it in three hundred years. He was very old, even for a goblin, and his skin was the color of a thundercloud. His ears were tattered, his nose a lumpy root, and his eyes—his eyes still held two coals of that dying green fire. Then he turned and walked into the woods

Snikk sat there until the moon began to set. Then he did a thing no goblin had ever done. He picked up the broken bell, and with a gentleness that surprised even himself, he placed it on the step of the smithy. He did not take anything. He did not tie a knot. He did not curse. Just to be

They had simply... dwindled.

But if you listen very closely—past the hum of your own blood and the whisper of the leaves—you will hear him humming a tune without any words.