Caliban darts between golden stalks. He knew it would come to this, he just knew it. His small, agile frame is hard to track in the dark, but he still worries the rustling grass will give his position away.
Not much farther now, he thinks to himself.
He bursts into a clearing of tamped down grass, no doubt a ploy of the invaders. He’s exposed. He needs to keep moving. And then he notices the girl.
At the center of the clearing a young, human girl rests on her knees. The dry, trodden hay around her looks like a poorly constructed bird’s nest. Her head is downcast, and her hands are folded in her lap. She looks lost… no, perhaps confused? Or maybe, sad.
Keep moving, Caliban thinks. You don’t have time for this. But he doesn’t keep moving. Instead, he slowly approaches the girl and nuzzles at her elbow.