He did not remember landing, only picking himself up painfully from the wet grass, right knee and both wrists throbbing. He stood in a grassy depression, gently sloping hills on all sides. Relief flooded over him when he saw Backbone standing some yards away, looking winded and annoyed. His loads were loose and dangling, several of the bundles spilt upon the ground. Pocket approached slowly, hands outstretched. As he drew nearer, he saw the Red Cap’s leg had become caught in the load ropes and the body lay awkwardly, head dashed against some nearby rocks. Pocket felt his own head, grateful for his luck. Backbone shied away from him, dragging the limp goblin a few yards further. With many soothing words, Pocket managed to get close enough to grab the guide rope and calm the mule down. Face wrinkled in disgust, Pocket untangled the Red Cap and was about to begin gathering the fallen supplies, when he heard harsh voices coming towards him from beyond the rise. Hails and calls drew closer and it would not be long before the Red Caps found him at the bottom of the bowl. There was nowhere to hide and he could not run anymore. They would see him soon. There was no way to avoid it.

Working frantically, Pocket stripped the goblin of his leather jerkin and iron plated boots. The blood colored cap was nowhere to be seen, and he had no time to search for it. Pulling his own tunic over his head, Pocket quickly dressed the body in it, hoping Sir Corc would forgive him for putting the colors of the Valiant Spur on a Red Cap. Lifting the twisted leg, Pocket again tied it to the mule.

“Sorry Backbone,” he whispered and slapped the animal as he hard as he could on the rump, sending him bolting up the easiest slope and out of sight.

Pocket fought to stay calm and clear his mind as he put the goblin’s armor on. The voices were almost on him, the sight of the running mule bringing them swiftly in his direction. Pocket closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering everything Rosheen had told him.

“Oi!” a voice shouted down at him.

Pocket opened his eyes and looked up to find a half dozen Red Caps staring down at him, weapons in hand.

“Daft bugger!” one of them said. “What were you on about, leapin’ on that critter?”

Another of them laughed. “Even he don’t rightly know! Lookit!” he pointed. “His hands are still shakin’, the crazy bastard!”

The others found this equally funny, and all had a good chuckle.

Pocket looked down at his hands. They were shaking; every knobby-knuckled, grey-skinned finger.