The faint rustling sound, initially dismissed as a trick of the wind, solidified into a tangible threat. William, his senses honed by days of living on the edge, instantly recognized the subtle difference between the random whisper of leaves and the deliberate movement of a living creature. He held his breath, his body tensing, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. He silently activated his comm-link, his fingers brushing the familiar device.

  "EMMA," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "analyse sound. Origin, nature, probability analysis."

  EMMA visually displayed in front on him, debriefing on the analyse as it worked through the details.

  "Analysing No significant wind detected. Probability of wind noise: 0%."

  A pause, filled only with the rustling, growing steadily closer.

  "No animal vocalizations or movement patterns detected in the last three hours. Probability of animal origin: 10%, decreasing with proximity."

  The rustling intensified, accompanied now by the faint but distinct snap of a twig breaking underfoot. William's heart began to pound against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the approaching threat.

  "Sound profile consistent with bipedal movement," EMMA continued, "Pace: casual, not hurried. Trajectory: not directly towards your position, but veering slightly… south-southeast. Estimated destination: riverbank, approximately fifty meters downstream."

  EMMA paused slightly, continue to work through the data, refining its assessment.

  "Auditory confirmation of footsteps," EMMA reported. "Footfall analysis indicates size and weight significantly smaller than average human. Given goblins are in the area, probability of goblin origin: 90%. Probability of detection of your presence: currently low, estimated at 15%, decreasing with current trajectory."

  A single goblin. And, based on EMMA's analysis, one that was unaware of their presence, heading towards the river for some other purpose. Relief washed over William, a temporary reprieve from the suffocating tension. He could handle a single goblin. Particularly with the element of surprise, there was little risk that one goblin posed. If discovered, William would be able to dispatch it quickly with his magic missile spell, as he had done so earlier.

  He allowed himself a small, silent sigh, his muscles relaxing slightly. He continued to monitor the sound, watching the edge of the trees, waiting for the creature to emerge. He wouldn't attack, attacking could result in significant noise, which may alert others that might be nearby, which William had no way of knowing. He would observe, assess, and act only if necessary.

  The goblin finally appeared, stepping out of the dense foliage and into the faint pre-dawn light. It was even smaller than William had anticipated, barely reaching his waist, its scrawny limbs clad in ragged furs. It carried a large, empty bucket, almost as big as itself, its metal rim dented and scratched. This was no warrior, no scout. This was a lowly ranked goblin, likely a labourer or slave, sent on a mundane chore by its superiors.

  The goblin, its face a mask of disgruntled resignation, shuffled towards the riverbank, kicking at loose stones, muttering to itself in its guttural language. It seemed utterly miserable, its every movement radiating resentment and frustration. William almost felt a pang of sympathy for the creature, a fleeting recognition of its pathetic existence.

  The goblin reached the water's edge and began to fill its bucket, the sloshing sound loud in the pre-dawn stillness. It worked slowly, clumsily, its movements lacking any sense of urgency or purpose. Then, as it straightened up, its bucket half-full, it paused. Its beady eyes, usually dull and unfocused, widened slightly, locking onto something… across the river.

  William's blood ran cold. He followed the goblin's gaze, his eyes narrowing, his stomach clenching with a sickening dread. He knew, instantly, what the creature had seen.

  The boat.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Herbert's boat, which they had so painstakingly repaired, was now a glaring beacon, a screaming advertisement of their presence. They had moved it from the water onto the shore, turned it upside down to let Roland fix and water-proof it. They had left the boat like that to let the water-proofing settle, but William had, in his haste and focus on repairing the boat, completely overlooked the simple fact that the boat's absence from the water, its unusual position on the bank, would be immediately obvious to anyone familiar with the area, anyone like… a goblin who regularly collected water from that very spot. They had not anticipated for the goblins to be this close.

  "Shit," William muttered under his breath, the word a venomous hiss.

  The goblin, its initial confusion replaced by a dawning realization, scratched its head, its eyes still fixed on the boat. Then, with a sudden, frantic energy, it dropped the bucket, the half-filled container clattering against the rocks, and turned, fleeing back into the forest, its movements now swift and purposeful.

  They were exposed.

  There was no time for recriminations, no time for regrets. The goblin, no matter how small or insignificant, was now a direct threat, an alarm bell that would soon summon a horde of its brethren. And William knew, with a chilling certainty, that they couldn't afford to wait.

  His mind raced, discarding options, weighing probabilities. He could try to pursue the goblin, try to silence it before it reached its companions. But that was a gamble, a high-risk manoeuvre with no guarantee of success. The goblin was fast, and the forest offered countless hiding places. And even if he managed to catch it, the noise of the pursuit, the struggle, could alert other goblins in the area.

  No, he realized, the only viable option was to escape. To get on the boat, to launch into the river, to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the approaching goblin reinforcements.

  He turned, his movements swift and decisive, and raced back towards the camp, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached the others, their sleeping forms huddled around the dying embers of the campfire.

  "Wake up!" he hissed, his voice urgent, his hand shaking Roland's shoulder. "Wake up! We've been discovered! A goblin saw the boat! It's running for help!"

  Roland, a seasoned warrior, reacted instantly, his eyes snapping open, his body tensing, his hand reaching for his sword. Julia, jolted awake by the commotion, sat up, her eyes wide with alarm, her hand instinctively reaching for her weapon. Caspian, groggy and disoriented, struggled to sit up, his face pale with fear. Jett, already on his feet, bow drawn and ready, silently scanned the edge of the tree.

  "A goblin?" Roland asked, his voice low and sharp. "How? Where?"

  "It saw the boat," William explained, his words tumbling over each other in his haste. "It was getting water. It ran back… that way." He pointed towards the path leading back into the forest. "We need to go. Now!"

  He paused, taking a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, to think clearly. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I… I should have realized. The boat… it was too obvious. I messed up."

  Roland, however, cut him short. "No time for that, William," he said, his voice firm with no accusatory tone. "It's done. We deal with it. We move. Now."

  His words were a bracing slap, a reminder that survival depended on action, not recrimination. William nodded, accepting the rebuke, steeling himself for the task ahead.

  They moved with a frantic efficiency, born of desperation and adrenaline. They gathered their gear, their movements swift and practiced.

  They reached the boat, their hearts pounding, their breath coming in ragged gasps. They pushed it into the water, the wooden hull scraping against the rocky shore. They clambered aboard, their movements clumsy, their haste overcoming their usual caution. Roland and Jett grabbed the oars, their muscles straining as they began to row, pushing the boat away from the bank, towards the centre of the river.

  It was then that they heard it. A cacophony of guttural shouts, a chorus of angry screeches, the unmistakable sound of a large group of goblins approaching, their fury echoing through the pre-dawn stillness.

  William, peering back towards the shore, saw them. A mob of goblins, dozens of them, their eyes gleaming in the faint light, their crude weapons raised, their faces contorted with rage. They were running towards the riverbank, their movements frantic, their intentions clear.

  "They're here!" William shouted, his voice barely audible above the din. "Row! Row faster!"

  The goblins reached the water's edge, their angry cries intensifying. They began to hurl rocks and spears, desperate attempts to stop the escaping boat. A few arrows, fired from a crude goblin bow, whistled through the air, falling short of their target.

  The party was just out of range. The current, initially slow and gentle, began to pick up speed, carrying them away from the shore, away from the immediate danger. The goblins, their frustrated cries echoing across the water, continued to run along the bank for a short distance, but they were quickly outpaced. The boat, propelled by the combined force of the current and the rowers' efforts, was pulling away, putting distance between them and their pursuers.

  They had escaped the immediate threat, evaded the goblin ambush. But their relief was short-lived. For they were now heading straight into the heart of Hammer Falls, into the churning, treacherous rapids, with only a hastily repaired boat and a hastily conceived plan to protect them. The danger, far from being over, had only just begun.