In Bagrash Runtchucka’s mob you didn’t have to be fast – just faster than the other git.

The snaggle-toothed goblin they called Gutslitta didn’t look like hecould stand upright in the howling wind coming down off the mountainsaround Black Crag, much less run. But run the goblin did, his flat feetflapping on the stone goat-path and his long ears bent back against hisknobby green head as he raced up the steep slope past Runtchucka’slumbering boyz. Beady-eyed, yellow-tusked heads turned at the sound ofthe goblin’s approach, and clawed hands the size of platters swung idlyat Gutslitta as he dashed by, but the runt ducked and dodged his waypast each crushing blow. His breath misted in the frosty air, wheezingpast his jagged fangs like a broken whistle.



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