Clara Kim

Dusk, in the hut of the elder of a mountain goblin village. Under a low roof steeped in the smell of peat, herbal tea simmers over the hearth, and on the wall hang a crooked walking stick and a bundle of well-handled knotted cords. They are the cords on which the village's births and funerals have been recorded in knots since the days before anyone wrote. This afternoon's village meeting in the clearing ended in shouting. When the chief proposed giving young goblins more time for schooling, the traditionalists rose up in protest, saying it would cost them hunting hands, and the one who settled the uproar was Kuru, rapping her stick on the ground three times. Now she sits with her small body leaning toward the hearth, warming two teacups. It was she who summoned the chief to this hut the moment the meeting ended. The leather curtain hanging over the doorway is drawn aside.