Bindlepod cut a bit of flesh from the fish with his knife, then took it between his fingers and held it out to the princess. As she bent forward to take it in her mouth, Bindlepod found himself, much to his own surprise, running his finger gently along her lower lip. Though he drew his hand back in shock, the bigger shock was the one that had passed between them, a jolt of recognition that made it impossible for them to ignore what their hearts had known for a long time.

From that moment on they knew that they were in love.

“I can’t say we were made for each other,” said Bindlepod, later that same afternoon. Violet was reclining in his arms, dreamily gazing at the waterfall. “Even so,” he continued, “I am glad we found each other.”

“And why weren’t we made for each other?” she asked, reaching up to pat his sallow cheek.

“Well, my stinky little sweetie, our smells are, to say the least, incompatible.”

“Oh, fiddle,” said Violet. “You smell fine to me.”

“And I’ve grown quite fond of your odor as well,” he replied—which was not what you would call a ringing endorsement, but it satisfied the princess nonetheless.

As the days and weeks wore on, Violet began to realize that Bindlepod was right. Though they were utterly happy in each other’s company, the world around them—or, to be more specific, the other goblins—was most uneasy with their relationship. And though Bindlepod claimed this did not bother him, Violet was perceptive enough to see that he missed the company of other goblins, missed their easy teasing, their wild energy, their bizarre games.

Finally she decided to seek help for their situation, and, after a bit of asking around, learned the whereabouts of the wisest of goblins, an incredibly ugly female of astonishing age. Her name was Flegmire, and she lived in a cave at the edge of Nilbog.

Violet did not tell Bindlepod where she was going, simply asked if she could borrow the frog for a time.

Bindlepod agreed, on the condition that she not be gone for long.

Violet and the frog hopped away.

Flegmire’s cave was deep and dank and hung about with moss. Snakes lounged around the entrance, as well as some other creatures that were like snakes, only stranger.

Standing at the front of the cave, Violet called, “May I enter, O Wisest of the Wise?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on in,” replied a gravelly voice.

Picking her way around assorted slimy creatures, Violet entered the cave.

Flegmire sat on the floor, which meant that her knees were considerably higher than her ears. She was playing with a collection of colored rocks that had been carved into various shapes. Violet recognized the game—she had seen the goblin children playing it fairly often—and wondered if coming to see Flegmire had been such a good idea after all.