Bryne nodded awake, mid-snore. A fine string of drool had escaped from the corner of his mouth and was now making a run for it through the red field of stubble on his cheek. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. He was in a forest glade with his back against a tree trunk.

“Oen yar feet, Ignoot!”

A group of migden bandits had surrounded him. Mops of frizzy rat-brown hair sprouted out from under their round copper helmets, which reminded Bryne of pot lids. Disproportionally large noses, in the shape and color of turnips, swelled over their tiny mouths filled with needle-teeth. Their leader, who stood at the impressive height of two and a half feet, due to the thick soles of his clogs, waved a makeshift spear in Bryne’s face.

Bryne had always wondered how migdens were able to see with the unkempt hair obscuring the entire upper floor of their faces. He, sure as Shift Lake, couldn’t see any eyes.

“I sayed, *oen yar feet*, Ignoot!”

“I heard you, little one,” Bryne said and wiped the drool from his cheek.

“I shell cut yar tongue, for saying me little!”

All the migdens bounced up and down, squealing excitedly. Bryne took a deep breath and tried to clear his head from the vapors of last night’s date with the bottle. He had partied with a group of Unda women in a lakeside tavern. One thing led to another, and he had been thrown out for being too drunk. He had entered the forest to take a quick leak…

“You look hungry,” he said. “Want a bit to eat?”

The leader’s jaw dropped a bit. He spun around and, in a hushed tone, started conspiring with his companions. Bryne opened his backpack and fished out an old meatloaf. The tiny creatures stopped their chatter all at once, turning their noses towards the sky, sniffing.

“We has decided – yar food for yar life!” the leader announced.

“How about half my food for half my life?”

The leader looked confused but then turned to his companions again, and entered another heated argument. Bryne took a bite and counted the money left in his purse. He was already running low.

“We has decided!” the leader announced. “Yar legs and yar arm for yar food!”

“Does that mean I get to keep my legs or that you want my legs? Also, which arm are we talking about here? I’d say my right arm is worth a bit more than my left one…”

The creatures once again bunched up and started whispering. Bryne took another bite and chewed through the rough texture. He wished he had booze to wash it down with. He looked around the glade. He could’ve sworn he’d had a bottle with him last night.

“We has decided – we wants yar left arm!”

“How about I throw in my right arm too for a drink? You guys don’t happen to have a bottle, do you?”

The nostrils of the migdens flared. “Yar food!”

“Sure, have at it.” He tossed the remaining part of the meatloaf at them

It landed in the middle of them, and a violent free-for-all broke out. Bryne went to look for his bottle. He first searched behind the tree and then went to look in the grass of the glade.

“Ah, there you are!” He put the bottle to his mouth and savored the last drops of the golden liquid.

Feeling a lot better, he returned to his resting place. His backpack was gone, and so was his purse.

“Shift Lake!” he swore.

There wasn’t anything of value in his backpack, and the purse only had a few coins, but if someone heard that he got robbed by migdens… well, he’d never hear the end of it.