Gospels clambered to his feet, dusted himself off, and then turned to Smoke, “And a monk I still am. I have Teirt.”

“Your offices?” Smoke was surprised, “Gospels, who would know?”

Gospels laughed, “. . . he asked the hermit.”  Gospels turned to the path that led back to the little compound. “Do hail the boat if you see it.  If it leaves us, we will be eating little bits of dried fish for a long time.”

Smoke looked back to the sea.  There was no sign of the boat that Gospels had assured him would come.  It was a beautiful day, sea birds danced on the breeze and Smoke took pleasure in watching their play.  “Wouldn’t it be best to be like a bird? Free? There in the sky are sailors in truth, who ride the sea winds and touch the sea only when they want,”  thought Smoke. The sun was warm on his face and he lay back against the stone for a moment to enjoy this gift as well.

Smoke started awake to the sound of a laughing gull.  He was chilled with the wind against him and the sun blocked by a passing cloud.  He did not know how long he’d slept.

Below, on the waves, was a small dinghy, smaller than his before it was shattered on this isle.  Both prow and stern rose from the gunnels and for a moment Smoke feared it was leaving.  The oars rose and fell, sparkling in the sun as the sea water fell away from them to plunge back into it for another stroke.

Smoke leaped to his feet and picked his way down toward the moorage, such as it was.  Soon enough he realized that the boat was approaching.  Smoke sighed his relief as he slowed.  He glanced back up toward the hermitage and saw Gospels high on the cliff, he waved when he saw Smoke looking back for him.  Smoke glanced back to where the little boat struggled toward the safety of the little cove.  There seemed plenty of time so he decided to wait for Gospels to catch up to him.

I am the mother of my people.  I am the chief of my clan.  I fought Gloona and beat her until she yielded.  I led our females to drive off the rouge, Mulak, when he killed Peltook.  I faced him and drove him off.  But Gloona was too proud until I beat her.

I am the mother.  I wish there was no need for males, no need for a mate, but we need young to grow strong.  We still raise Peltook’s last brood.  Moogat, the witch, says I should eat them as many mothers do when they rise.  This I will not do.

Our males are too young or I would choose from them and chase away the rest.  I must choose between two bad paths.  I must go to other clans and take a mate or I must find a band of ogres, bachelors who may or may not have gone mad with blood lust.

I am now mother.  I mate, but I will keep no mate.  Moogat warns that this is not the path of wisdom.  Moogat talks and talks, but I see no wisdom in her words.  Her council is empty.  Moogat talks to Gloona too and I know some of the words.

Perhaps I will chase Moogat and Gloona out of the clan like we chase off the old males that like to kill the females and eat the young.  Sometimes smart and swift is better than strong.

It is strange that only the mother breeds.  Don’t we need more young?  What if every mature female was a mother and a clan was like a gathering of clans?

This I will think on.

This little snippet gives an idea of one small Gobli clan. I doubt seriously that they will think of themselves in terms that Tolkien did. Perhaps I will come up with something better, but in truth these creatures are a reflection of nightmare in a mind touched by the All Mind. If that mind thought in Tolkiensian terms then it is possible that they would be known by Tolkien’s names. Perhaps I can construct a better foundation. Anyhow, this is a start.