The clang of hammer on metal rang through the forge like thunder, as Rody Lamoree, the village blacksmith, wiped sweat from his brow. The muscles in his arms flexed as he swung the hammer with practiced precision, shaping the red-hot iron into the blade of a sword. His auburn hair, wild and sweat-slicked, stuck to his forehead as the heat from the forge blazed around him.
Rody worked alone—or at least, he *tried* to.
“Oi! Watch where you're swinging that thing, you overgrown ox!”
The voice was high-pitched, almost squeaky, but somehow laced with enough condescension to give Rody pause. He glanced down at the source of the voice—a tiny gremlin, barely the size of his palm, sitting smugly on the edge of his workbench, arms crossed over his minuscule chest. His sharp black eyes glinted with annoyance as he dodged sparks flying from Rody's hammer.
"You're in my forge, Vincent," Rody muttered through gritted teeth, pounding the metal with a little more force than necessary. "Again. Why don’t you go back to... wherever it is you gremlins come from?"
Vincent, the aforementioned gremlin, bared his small, needle-like teeth in something that might've been a smile. "Now why would I leave when there’s a perfectly good feast right here?"
Rody paused mid-swing, brow furrowed. "What feast?"
The gremlin hopped onto the edge of the anvil, gesturing dramatically with tiny clawed hands. "You, of course! Big, dumb, and delicious, just the way I like ‘em." His sharp teeth flashed in the flickering light of the forge as he eyed Rody like a particularly stubborn steak.
Rody groaned, rolling his eyes. "You’re *still* trying to eat me?"
"I’m persistent," Vincent shot back, puffing out his little chest. "And I'm very patient. Sooner or later, you'll slip up. I'll sink my teeth into that big juicy arm of yours, and then—" He snapped his teeth in the air, his tiny face alight with the ridiculous fantasy of actually devouring Rody whole.
Rody snorted, shaking his head as he wiped his hands on his leather apron. "Vincent, you're about the size of a potato. How exactly do you plan on eating me?"
The gremlin’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve clearly never heard the tale of the Gluttonous Gnome of Gretchwald. Ate three whole sheep in one sitting!”
"Uh-huh," Rody said, setting the cooling sword down on the anvil. "Well, as inspiring as that story is, you might want to start smaller—maybe a chicken. Or, y'know, a snack *your* size."
Vincent hopped up, his tiny legs propelling him onto Rody’s shoulder in one surprisingly nimble movement. He peered at Rody’s bicep with a look of intense concentration, as if he were sizing up a steak for dinner. His fingers, no larger than toothpicks, poked and prodded at the blacksmith’s solid arm.
"See, that’s your problem," Vincent said, his tiny claws tracing the muscles under Rody’s shirt. "You're too *dense*. Like a beefy loaf of bread that’s been baked way too long."
Rody shot him an incredulous look. "A beefy loaf of bread?"
"You know what I mean!" Vincent barked, slapping Rody’s shoulder with a minuscule, unimpressive thwap. “All muscle and no give. Makes it harder to chew. But don't worry, I’ve got strong jaws."
Rody raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, and about five minutes before I flick you off into the woods."
Vincent blinked, momentarily startled, before he quickly schooled his face into a haughty expression. “As if you’d dare flick me, you barbarian. I’m—"
Without a word, Rody reached up and plucked Vincent off his shoulder between two fingers, dangling the tiny gremlin in the air like an unruly cat.
"—HEY! Put me down!" Vincent squawked, kicking his tiny legs in a furious attempt to wriggle free. “I am *very* fragile, you know! Highly sensitive! Let me go!”
