Kreet lay awake in her cell for a long time that morning before finally succumbing to nervous exhaustion. Becoming an officially recognized Acolyte was reason enough. Knowing the Abbot supported that decision was even more inspiring. But for all that her mind kept straying back to that kiss. She realized that, as much as she had learned from Ka’Plo and her time here in the Monastery about humans, she knew shockingly little about their social life outside of the Cloister. Being raised in what was essentially an all-male institution certainly didn’t help. There were certainly other boys here besides Brand and Karl, but she didn’t spend much time with them. There was a sort of bonding between the three of them since they’d all been outsiders. But they were all too young to really care much. Their lives were essentially tied up around avoiding getting punished and unbridled play when they could get away.

But now she realized just how much of an outsider she really was. She looked down at herself. She’d never given much thought to just how different she really was from everyone around her. She’d seen pictures of kobolds and knew her body would start changing soon. Her hips would widen to the ridiculous proportions she had seen of the female kobold shape. Her tail would lengthen. Her horns would continue growing. She would lose the inherent cuteness of her youth. Standing only 3 feet tall, at best she might grow another foot. The boys were already much bigger than she was, and that difference would only increase.

Why had he kissed her? The hug was clear enough. It was a comforting touch, meant to reassure her that she was important to him. But she had never been kissed before, by anyone! Sure it was just a peck. Insignificant really. Just an expansion of the hug, she felt sure. It wasn’t even a gesture that was universal. Only humans and others with similar facial structures kissed. Her kind certainly didn’t! But she had read enough to know it was a significant action for them. It both bothered and delighted her in ways that she couldn’t understand. But she did understand one thing, the Cleric and the Abbot were going well beyond their Rule in allowing her to become an Acolyte. They saw potential in her, potential worth breaking that Rule for. She swore to Pelor that she would do her utmost to see that the potential would not be wasted. She would do her very best to become a true Cleric.

—————-

The days after that were hectic. She didn’t spend much time with Karl and Brand, though she did go with Brand to visit Karl as he was recovering. But she poured herself into her studies. During her formal class time with the Cleric she remained focused and only rarely did she find herself looking at his eyes and beard rather than the topic at hand. She also learned that being a Cleric was more than healing spells and magical wards. The purpose of a Cleric was to go out into the world and assist Pelor in bringing Light. She understood now that Light was a euphemism for Good, and that she could support wholeheartedly. But the Cleric also pointed out that she had another goal as a Cleric. She would also be an ambassador for her race. Her diminutive size would never inspire fear, but if she kept herself on the right path and did Pelor’s will, she could show the world above that the kobold was not necessarily a creature of evil.

As part of the training to be a Cleric, she must also become proficient in Martial Arts though. Experience with blunt weapons was assumed of a true Cleric, but she found the training difficult. Her mind was keen, but her body just didn’t fit the regimens that were ascribed to the human cleric. In this area both her and her tutor were treading new ground. Weeks went by, but try as she might she simply could not muster the power or finesse of wielding a weapon more complex than a solid shaft.

The scaled skin of a kobold did not reveal brusing like human skin did, but she certainly felt them anyway as she trudged to the training area where the Cleric awaited after breakfast one morning. This was the day dedicated to physical training and she was not looking forward to it. She felt sore in a dozen places since the last training. Worse yet, she still was only training against a straw dummy. She had not dared to spar with Brand yet, and Karl was still limping from his fall. As she passed within the low stone wall that defined the training ground, she saw the Cleric sitting and meditating within. She headed to the weapon rack and took down her shortened stave, sighed, and began stretching exercises.

“Kreet, I’ve been thinking…” her Master said through closed eyes.

She halted her exercises and walked over to him. “Sir?”

“Do you know why we practice in the Martial Arts, Kreet?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“To defend ourselves and others when we begin our Apostlate,” she said, practically quoting from one of the handbooks.

“That’s right. We could do little good in the world if we got ourselves killed the minute something attacked us. And things will attack us. Besides the minions of Darkness, simple wild beasts, marauders and bandits are everywhere out there in the wider world.”

“And they would kill me on sight,” she muttered, looking down at her clawed feet.

“Kreet, I’m not going to lie to you. They would. You will always be well-advised to stay with a group out there. You need to know how to handle some weapons anyway. But I think maybe we’ve been going about this all wrong. I’ve been trying to teach you human tactics which work well for humans. But they are perhaps not the best for a kobold like yourself. Perhaps we should try to learn kobold tactics instead. What do you know about kobold fighting?”

Kreet had brightened up until that last question. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I was very young when I was taken out of the caverns. I never learned anything about fighting. I’ve read all I could find about kobolds in the library, and Master Ka’Plo’s books of course. But they don’t say much about actual fighting. They go into great detail about some of the kobold traps, but it seems like when it got down to actual fighting, kobolds are just berserkers.”

The Cleric nodded agreement. “Which isn’t a very good tactic when your biggest fighters are only four feet tall. Nevertheless, Kreet, your Creator gave you some pretty impressive weapons given your size. Those teeth are not just for chewing up potatoes and beef. I notice you’ve been filing down your claws too. Stop doing that. You’re not a human and those are superior weapons you should keep honed. I’ve seen how nimble you are with them, and I notice they are partially retractable too. I’ve no fear you’ll accidentally hurt someone with them.”

“No Sir. I just… I didn’t want to stand out too much I guess,” Kreet explained sheepishly.

The Cleric put a hand on her shoulder, “Sorry Kreet. But… you will stand out whether or not your claws are filed.  And then there’s your foot-claws. Kreet, those are deadly if you learn to use them.”

Kreet, who had been sitting before her Master, lifted a foot and looked at it. The modified sandal had been cut away to make room for her claws. “My feet?” she said, contemplating the massive claws there.

“Obviously. Let those claws grow back out again too. Kreet, those are your best weapons. With them and your massive legs behind them, you could eviscerate the most powerful wild animal. They won’t pierce armor, but there’s always a weakness somewhere you can exploit if you need to get physical with an opponent. Primarily you should avoid that, but you won’t always be able to. Today we’re going to work on ways you can best use those weapons. And I’m going to armor myself because once you’ve gotten good at their use, and let the grow back to their normal size, you could really cause damage.”

Kreet looked back at her foot and wiggled her massive ‘toes’. She smiled, just a little.

—————————–

From that day on, she no longer dreaded the Martial Arts training. After a few months her claws on her hands and feet had recovered their natural shape and sharpness. For his part the Cleric took his knowledge of the hand-to-hand Martial Arts techniques and tried to expand it to accommodate both the benefit of a strong tail and the detriment of short stature. He also implemented some moves the Dwarves had perfected, which turned shortness into a benefit. The training was still tough, but now Kreet felt it was a type she was comfortable with. Her legs and tail grew ever stronger.

However, her friend Karl had not grown stronger. As days became months it became clear that the limp that he had gained since the fall was not going away. The other boys had begun to call him Karl the Gimp behind his back and, on occasion, to his face. Not Brand of course, but neither Brand nor Kreet could be around to defend their friend at all times of course, and boys can be hurtful at that age.

“Why didn’t you just let me die?” Karl confessed one day when they were alone in their secret treehouse. Brand had been unable to join them that day so it was just Karl and Kreet this day.

“Karl, they’re just saying that to bug you. You know that, don’t you?”

Karl turned to her, tears in his eyes. “I know it, but it works damn it.”

Kreet scooted closer to her friend and wrapped an arm around him. “They call me Gator you know,” she said, trying to comfort him.

Karl snorted and looked down at his friend. “Kreet, We call you Gator too!”

“I know. But you are my friends. It’s different.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be a Cleric, Gator,” Karl said, laying back against the wooden floor. “I’ll never pass the Physicals now.”

“Of course you will Kay,” Kreet responded, using their nickname for him. “You’re the best Acolyte of us all!”

“Except for the Martial Arts. I saw you the other day in the Training Ground. Kreet, you’re incredible!”

“Aww, you’re just saying that because you love me,” Kreet teased.

“No, really. That high kick you did with your tail. That was really something!”

“Well, thank you Kay. But I hear you can do the Guilding Bolt already!”

Karl wiped the tears out of his eyes, which suddenly sparkled with Mischief. “I can! Wanna see?”

“Really! You really can?”

Karl nodded triumphantly.

“Prove it!” she challenged him and he stood up and walked to the door. Kreet crawled beside him, head between his legs and looking out to see the fabled Guiding Bolt spell. Outside the only thing visible was the leaves and branches of the trees around them. Their treehouse was very well placed, deep in the woods that grew beside the Monastery and as of yet had not been discovered by anyone besides the three who built it.

“What should I hit?” he asked, looking down at the snout poking out between his legs.

“See that black tree towards the left? Hit that!”

“You got something against that tree Gator?” he snickered.

“Sure, it’s a Guiding Bolt magnet! I hate that tree. Kill it Kay!”

The boy closed his eyes and concentrated, then he opened them again, serenity on his face.

Nothing happened.

“Wait, wait… I gotta get my head straight. Gator, could you move your head. You’re distracting me.”

Kreet moved to his right and poked her head out between his knee and the door edge.

“Now, let me try again.”

He repeated the ritual, hands outstretched towards the tree. When he opened them, a blinding flash of light leapt instantly from him to the tree, breaking the trunk with it’s force halfway up it’s length and parallel to their treehouse.

“WHOA! Did you see that?” Karl asked, impressed by his own magic.

But Kreet did not see it. Kreet was completely blind.

“Kreet! Are you alright?”

“Karl, I can’t see! Are my glasses still on?”

“No, they came off when you fell back. Here,” the boy said, putting her glasses in her hands, his beginning to shake. She put the dark glasses back on, but she was still completely blind.

“Oh shit,” she said.

“Oh shit is right! Maybe it will come back after a while.”

“Sure it will. Let’s just… wait here a while.”

They waited as the afternoon wore on.

“No, it’s alright, I’m not really a girl anyway. Not like you mean.” Kreet was saying. She was keeping her eyes closed, hoping that would help them recover. It also let her forget about her blindness for a while and not panic.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. Anyway I was taking my clothes to the laundry and she was in that side room – you know, the one with the bath?”

Kreet nodded. Of course they all knew every inch of the Monastery and it’s grounds by now.

“Anyway, she was in the bath with the door wide open!”

“Oh wow! Did she see you?”

“I think so, Gator. I think she left it open on purpose!”

“So…” Kreet led him on, “…go on! What did you see?”

Karl held his hands under his breasts, but then realized Kreet couldn’t see him.

“Her jugs! I’m telling you those things were as big as melons, all bouncy and stuff!”

“Wow! Did you see the nipples!?” Kreet asked, every bit as interested as the boy.

He nodded, but again remembered she couldn’t see him. “Yeah! One anyway. Pink as your tongue!”

Kreet sighed. “I’ll never have nipples. I wonder what it’s like?”

“You’ll never have a dick either,” he said.

She estimated where he was and slapped him hard with her tail. “Guess what you’ll never have?” she snickered.

“OW!” he cried.

“It’s getting late. They’re going to start wondering where we are,” she said.

“Want to try it again?” Karl asked hesitantly.

She nodded and put the sunglasses on. This time she also covered her eyes with her hands. Then she slowly opened her eyes.

She saw nothing.

She looked up at Karl, or at least where she thought he probably was. “Nothing. Karl, I’m scared,” she admitted.

“Me too, Kreet. I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t think about your eyes!” he cried.

“I didn’t either,” she cried along with him.

They hugged and cried together, Karl repeating “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” while Kreet tried to comfort him, but it was hard to comfort someone else when you’re panicking yourself.

Finally, though, they had to get down. Karl guided her and held her hand as they found their way back to the Monastery.

——————————-

She left her cell in the early morning hours to the call of the religious service held at that hour. She liked this time of day. The other monks, even the most fervent, were barely awake and went through the motions of the service as if sleepwalking. Even the Abbot, who led the group in prayers, was uninspired. There was something about being the only person who was truly awake that she enjoyed. She read the appendix of the holy books while the chants continued, though she never lost her place in the chanting either. She could separate her mind in that way, something few men could manage. The words she read were cryptic, but she felt there was some meaning to them anyway if she could only understand them better.

Then a shadow fell over her book and she looked at the man who had stepped into the pew beside her. It was the Cleric Quint, and he was looking at her. He was not sleeping at all. She closed the book guiltily and looked away – back to the altar where she was supposed to be focused. She tried to ignore the feeling that the Cleric was staring at her, but try as she might her eyes kept straying back towards him.  All through the service he stayed beside her, not saying anything to her but with those penetrating eyes locked on her whenever she should glance towards him. To say she was nervous was an understatement. By the time the service was concluded, she was visiblly shaking.

She stood to go and a hand held her shoulder. She gulped hard and looked back at the Cleric with pitiable, tear filled eyes. She tried to say his name, but she found herself unable to speak.

“Kreet, come with me.”

She hung her head and nodded once, and followed him up the aisle and through a side passage to the Abbot’s private chambers.

“Wait here,” the Cleric said, and walked into another room. A few minutes later, the Abbot himself, still clothed in the vestments of the early morning service, walked by and into the room, closing the heavy door behind him. He didn’t look at her.

For a while, she thought about running away. But that was silly, she knew. If she ran away, what would that gain her? She wanted to stay here! Then, as the minutes passed by, she heard muffled voices within. She knew she could creep to the door and put her head against the door, allowing the bones of her skull to amplify the sound within, but that would be wrong. She’d done enough wrong already. So she just sat and became ever more convinced that they were discussing physical punishment as well as banishment. She had heard of some cults that practiced such rites. She had been disciplined plenty of times of course – mostly when she had first arrived and didn’t understand the rules. But this was probably worse. She couldn’t un-learn what she had learned. Nothing short of death or severe brain damage could make that happen, and she was none too sure that this wasn’t precisely what they were talking about.

The minutes ticked by. Then finally the door opened and the Abbot walked out. He still did not look at her, but now he was in his normal attire. The Cleric followed close behind and shut the door. She looked up at him and his face softened.

“Hold my hand, Kreet. We need to talk. But not here. We will talk in my chambers.”

He walked with her, making sure to keep his stride that which she could match without too much effort. She appreciated that, and she tried her best not to read anything positive into his gentle looks. Hope was a drug that dulled the senses. Better to expect the worst and be wrong, than to expect a miracle that never happened.

Finally they arrived at his room and he stepped inside and sat behind a large table. She did not miss the fact that he closed the door solidly behind her.

“Kreet,” he began, “this monastery has been here for a thousand years. Did you know that?”

The little kobold nodded. She’d read the history many times in fact. She couldn’t list all the Abbots as some could, but she knew the major ones at least.

“A thousand years, give or take a few decades. In that time, despite what some would have you believe, there have been changes to our Rule. Minor changes, but over time those changes build up. Given a thousand years time, the changes are significant. But there are some rules that have never changed. One of them is the prohibition against female Clerics.”

She hung her head. Of course she knew the monastery was male-only. There were a few exceptions, but very very few. There was a scullery maid that worked in the laundry who had been left as an orphan some time back. And there was an old lady who lived just outside the monastery and helped in the garden. A widow, she believed. But other than those two, she was the only other female here.

“Do you know why that rule is in place, Kreet?”

Kreet looked up at him. He looked sad. She felt sad. She shook her head slowly from side to side.

“Kreet, neither do I. I do understand why the monastery is male-only. Devotion to Pelor is our duty, privilege and reason for our existence here. Mixing sexes is not conducive to that devotion. The natural urges of men towards women and vice-versa is a powerful one and we don’t want to lose our candidates to that temptation. But there are convents dedicated to Pelor as well. They produce fine Clerics too. I’m even aware of a monastery, far far away, that allows both sexes. But that is not our Rule here, Kreet.”

Kreet brightened up. Maybe he was going to offer her a chance to live at a nunnery instead of excommunicating her altogether. She would not like to move again. It felt like she had moved so many times she would never have a home, but it would certainly be better than being thrown out into the world on her own.

“In our Rule, females cannot become Clerics. They can’t even be monks here. Do you know why we accepted you into the monastery?”

“Because Ka’Plo requested it?” she offered, clearing her throat after having been silent so long.

“Well, yes. But more accurately, he demanded it in exchange for his research. This monastery has grown rather wealthy after publishing his work on kobolds like you, but he refused to allow that publication if we wouldn’t accept you.”

“But he is dead. You don’t need to keep me anymore,” Kreet pointed out.

“Kreet, we are servants of Pelor. We do not lie, nor cheat. You surely know that by now. No, the Abbot accepted you, though it was against our Rule, because of Ka’Plo’s demand but also because he was a very good friend of Ka’Plo. He made a promise to raise you as our boys are raised. But you have put that decision into question. As a kobold, you are – at least to young human eyes – sexless. You do not offer the distractions that bringing a human girl in would cause. But to break another Rule and allow you to become a Cleric… that is a very different matter.”

“I regret that I learned of things I shouldn’t have,” she said honestly.

“I am quite sure you do, though that boy doesn’t regret it. I don’t regret it. And Kreet, the Abbot himself doesn’t regret it. You have learned some fairly sophisticated abilities, and you learned them second-hand through the boys and their books. And you have learned those abilities better and more thoroughly than the boys under my own tutelage. Kreet, you are a prodigy. Do you know that word?”

The kobold shook her head again, feeling once again as if she had failed in a fundamental way. She could guess what it meant, but she didn’t know. Her grasp of the language was still incomplete.

“It means you are gifted, Kreet. You have a gift of learning and applying what you learn. It’s not intelligence – that’s for mage work. It’s a sort of Wisdom, and it’s not something than can be learned by memorization or perfection of some recipe like the alchemists do. It is within the student from the outset, and it’s the Master’s job to bring it out and bring it to it’s highest possible state. If he does his job right, the student becomes his own Master and carries on without him at some point. At that point, he is a true Cleric, ready to go into the world and hone his devotion to his god and his craft as an Apostle. And in our case, to do Good in the world. To bring light to dark places.”

“Kobold’s like dark places,” Kreet said. It was a simple fact.

“The phrase is a metaphor, Kreet. Some dark places can be full of light, and some bright places can be very dark. It is not sunlight and shadow we’re talking about here Kreet. It is Good and Evil. For most humans, kobolds are creatures of evil. Ka’Plo’s work has begun to change that perception. You could change it even more. Kreet…”

Kreet sucked in her breath. Whatever revelation the Cleric was leading to, this was it. His words boded well, but her life had taught her never to Hope. She was trying her very best not to.

“Kreet, I am going to teach you to be a Cleric.”

This time, a dam burst in her eyes. She let out a squeal of joy that she couldn’t with-strain and her eyes fairly poured with tears.

“Kreet… little one! Please!” the Cleric said, and immediately she choked back the tears, closed her eyes and composed herself.

“I am sorry for that, Master,” she said. “I had not hoped…”

“Well don’t get too worked up. I will teach you in private, here in my chambers every day after the evening service. I don’t want you to go spreading it all around. Some of the older monks will object no doubt. Not only are you not male, but you’re a kobold. It will be hard for them to accept. But it’s not a secret. I know you’ll tell your friends, and I don’t want you to feel guilty if I were to demand secrecy from you. No, you can tell them. Indeed, I’d like you to work with them as well. You can learn from each other. Just don’t go talking about it to the other monks if you don’t need to. The Abbot has agreed with this course of action. He is a man of few words to Acolytes like you, but he has specifically requested me to carry his regards to you. He has high hopes for you, Kreet. And, even though they don’t know it, your very race may depend on you succeeding. Do your best.”

Kreet was holding back the tears as best she could, but they would not stay. “I am an Acolyte? The same as Karl and Brand?”

The Cleric stood up and opened a drawer and pulled something soft and dull yellow from it. Kreet’s eyes grew as large as saucers.

“Kreet, remove your clothes and receive your Acolyte robes. From this day on, you are an Acolyte of Pelor.”

Kreet didn’t hesitate. She stood naked before the Cleric as he placed the garment over her head, reciting an incantation made to bless the robe and it’s wearer. It had obviously been made to fit her specifically with accommodation both for her ever-widening hips as well as her tail. She did not fail to understand the significance of that. Someone had been considering this for her prior to yesterday’s incident. She looked at the Cleric.

He smiled, knowing what she was thinking. “No Kreet. It wasn’t me. It was the Abbot. He keeps a closer eye on things around here than you may suspect. He has known of your abilities for some time. It was news to me though! Now, hold still while I pin your badge of office on.  Acolyte level 1. Congratulations, Kreet. You should be proud. I know Ka’Plo would be too. Now go back to your cell. You have tomorrow off so you can sleep all day.”

Kreet stood at attention while the Cleric knelt to her level and pinned the badge on her chest. She had never felt prouder in her life. She wanted to shout it to the world. But she knew better. She would be quiet about it. Besides, the yellow robe and badge would scream it to the world anyway. But she would not be quiet about it with her two friends. They would celebrate in some fashion, most likely in a fashion that the Abbot would never have approved of!

She turned to the door, but then stopped and turned back to the Cleric.

“Sir,” she said as humbly, and in the best Common that she could muster. “Thank you for this. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. And thank the Abbot for me too. This means the world to me. This is my life. I will do my best to honor you both.”

The Cleric smiled and knelt to the little kobold’s level and hugged her warmly. “I know you will, Kreet. Thank you, for what you did for Karl. That was very self-sacrificing of you.”

He planted a kiss on her snout then, before shooing her out of his office.

Little did he know that, indirectly, that kiss would lead to her expulsion a few years later.

Her first refuge was the farmer’s family. But, though they had been friendly enough towards her during her time with the old man, it was clear that they weren’t comfortable actually raising a kobold. The decision was taken from them anyway when the monks came to clean up his house and they discovered his will. They took his unfinished work on kobolds, which would sell well in years to come at his bequest, but they also were required to take in the kobold named Kreet as a payment of sorts for his blessing to publish his works.

A few days after the funeral, Kreet was bundled up onto a cart and taken to the Monastery. The monks were austere and not disposed to talk. She moved into a special cell made just for her. She did appreciate the work they’d put into it, to make it comfortable, but she missed the old man and she sat in a stone chair in her cell for hours, knitting for the monks but humming songs that Ka’Plo had taught her while wishing he was back.

He had told her, not long before he died, about his complicity in the massacre of her family. Perhaps he had felt his life was coming to an end soon and needed to be absolved of that crime. She was too young to consider this at the time, but later, when she had learned more of life and people, she thought about it. She was happy that she had done so – absolved him of his guilt – at that time. Young as she was, she could not fix blame on this person who had quite surely saved her life.

Yet her years at the monastery were not the bleak solitude it seemed they would be at first. Two boys were delivered to the monastery as Initiates and she befriended them both. Since she was no human girl, the awkwardness that they might have felt did not appear, and the three spent many happy hours together. For her part, she appreciated their boisterous attitude when the three would manage to get away from the strict watchfulness of the older monks. Though she could not laugh as they did, she nonetheless could enjoy their company in the same way, and was every bit as mischievous as they were. She got in trouble with the older monks as well, but she resented that her punishment was always solitary confinement while the boys received direct physical punishment.

Not that Kreet was any glutton for pain, but it certainly bothered her that she was treated so radically different than the boys, even though she’d committed the same ‘crimes’. She was never sure if it was due to her race or her sex, both of which were foreign to the monastery apart from Kreet herself.  Yet, the boys also brought her secret information. She learned her first cantrips by reading the books the boys would smuggle back to her while they explained what they had learned in the Acolyte school. While she was always well behind their capabilities as Clerics in training, still her progression was never more than a few months behind their own and occasionally she might grasp a subject better than either of them.

And then one day the boy named “Karl” fell out of a tree. The three had been in a small wood nearby, climbing and generally doing the terribly risky and dangerous things kids do at that age when Karl lost his grip while jumping from one branch to another and fell to the ground, hitting his head sharply against a rock at the bottom. “Brand”, the other boy, was panic stricken.

“Kreet! I think he’s dead! KREET! What should we do!?”

Kreet examined the boy. The blood was pooling under his head and there was no reaction in his eyes, yet he still breathed.

“Brand,” she said, trying to summon all the confidence she could muster. “Did you learn that healing spell you were telling me about last week? Do you know how to perform it?”

But the boy looked at her with eyes wide, uncomprehending. “I don’t remember! Kreet, we’ve got to do something!”

She thought for a minute. She was fairly sure she could remember it, but really it didn’t matter. If it worked, she might save him. If it didn’t, he would probably die anyway. It simply couldn’t hurt to try. But they’d need help from the monks either way.

“Brand, I need you to run back and get your Master, the Cleric. He’s the best at the healing arts. Tell him what’s happened and get him back here as soon as you can.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, but she shooed him away. “Go you idiot! Every second counts and if you stop running for a minute you may be too late. Go!”

The boy’s feet flew and he was out of sight in an instant. But Kreet had already turned back to Karl. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the book she’d read. The words formed in her mind and she spoke them aloud, holding her hands near – but not touching – the broken skull. At first she didn’t think anything was happening, but she closed her eyes tighter. She knew that this kind of magic required belief. It could not work if you didn’t believe it could. Well, she had believed. She believed more than anything else in the world. She was sitting here, with her friend, and his head was healing itself. The bones were stitching back together. The blood stopped flowing, through the power of Pelor. His power was flowing through her – from her brain where the belief was, down her neck, across her chest, down her arms and out of her claws into the boy’s damaged skull.

It wasn’t a question of it it was working or not; she knew it was working. The question was simply if it was too late or not. She knew she was still too young to handle the amount of power required for a major injury, her faith too insecure. She heard a muffled crack that might have been a twig, or might have been the skull knitting itself back together.

She kept it up for the full half-hour it took

for the Cleric, named Quint, and some other monks to return with her friend Brand". She did not open her eyes until the Cleric put his hand on her shoulder. “That’s enough Kreet. I’ll take it from here. You’ve done well.”

She opened her eyes, still wearing the lenses that darkened the sunlight, and looked at the experienced monk as he closed his eyes and began an incantation. She caught a few words, though she couldn’t have summoned it herself. It was a probe of a sort. He was examining the boy’s condition, and specifically the condition of the skull and one leg that she hadn’t noticed before. The skull’s condition was surprisingly good, considering. The leg was badly broken though, and she’d done nothing for it. Though no words were exchanged verbally, she was still linked to the power of Pelor, and she heard his words through that link.

“Very, very good Kreet. We need to talk about this ability you’ve learned, but you have undoubtedly saved this boy’s life. He will recover, though he may not awaken for another day or two. His brain must mend itself. But now, remove your link to the great Pelor and let me take your place. I will work on his leg.”

She did as she was bid, and was led back to the monastery with the other boy. He was talking incessantly, obviously relieving his nervousness. But Kreet was silent, and she was worried. The Cleric had

complimented

her, but she also knew she had learned something she wasn’t supposed to learn. It could go bad for her. She couldn’t regret what she’d done, but she also worried about her future. It had been nearly two years since the old man had died and she had come to live here, but she knew she was still too young to face life outside the monastery without support. Most likely she would be killed or enslaved.

When the Cleric came back with the other boy, she stood inside the grand hallway doors as he entered, but he neglected to

acknowledge her presence. Instead he went straight to the Abbot’s inner chambers, so she returned to her cell. She prayed all night as fervently as she knew how. To say she lacked faith would be untrue. She had seen what Pelor could do. The power to heal had to be coming from somewhere, and if that somewhere happened to be named Pelor, so much the better. Inside though, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something selfish. She wasn’t praying for the boy’s recovery. She was praying for her continued shelter in the monastery. Life was monotonous here, and arduous at times, but it was, above all else, safe.

A year later Kreet had settled into her life with the old monk rather well. Visitors were few, and when she was able to greet them in the Common tongue, they usually had no problem with her. For his part, Ka’Plo was enjoying every day with her. In his time teaching Kreet how to speak in the Common tongue, he was constantly learning more about her life. Yet every day her memories became fuzzier, so his copious notes were dwindling. He began to work on his Kobold Compilation in earnest, knowing that he would be very lucky indeed if he were able to complete the massive multi-volume set before his life was over.

For the most, part his visitors were either members of his sect, sent to check up on him, or the local farmer who delivered their groceries. Technically, the shack belonged to the farmer, but he and his family had known Ka’Plo for years and seemed sincerely happy to help the old man. They had a daughter who came over frequently to play with Kreet, and the kobold learned a lot about human socialization from the time she spent playing with the girl. Of course, initially, the family was none too keen on the relationship, but as time passed they even accepted Kreet into their own home on occasions for sleepovers.

When she did so, Kreet made sure to be on her best behavior at all times. She dressed appropriately, made sure to keep her body covered at all times, and ate with as much dignity as a kobold could muster sitting at a table. Fortunately, the farmer’s family were a friendly lot and she didn’t suffer from the stigma of being a kobold in a human world when at home or at the farmer’s house. Her infrequent trips into town, however, were a different matter altogether. Eventually she refused to go at all unless Ka’Plo really insisted, and those were generally trips to the shop where she was able to help the old man choose items that she would need for mending things around the shack.

While her recollection of her family might be fading, the pain of their loss was ever sharp in her memory. Whenever she would see an Adventurer in town or wandering the paths beyond the wood around her cabin, her eyes would take on a red hue, and she would not speak until he or she was out of sight.

“They’re not all bad, Kreet. They’re just out in the world, trying to make a way for themselves like everyone else you know,” Ka’Plo said at the dinner table one summer evening while he picked his teeth over yet another delicious meal Kreet had made. She had, in fact, become quite a good cook.

“They make their way in the world by killing others. I wish they would all just die,” she said spitefully glancing towards the window where she had seen a small band on the road a mile or so in the distance earlier.

“That is not the way of Pelor that you were taught Kreet,” he said to her with disapproval.

“No sir. I am sorry for my transgression,” she responded as if by rote. Though she saw the wisdom in the moral teachings that Ka’Plo had taught her, she also recognized that she was not truly a child of the light. A kobold is a child of the dark and the underworld, and she always felt like somewhere, somehow, she was betraying her kind. Not that she wanted to worship Nerull by any means, she loved the old man and sincerely loved his religion. But old associations are hard to break. Her clan had not worshiped Nerull either, of course. They hadn’t known what worship even meant.

That evening, Kreet and Ka’Plo sat on the small porch as the evening dimmed. She removed the odd mechanism she had designed for her eyes now that the sun had set and she could see normally again.

“Ka’Plo,” she started, taking up her knitting again. “Do you think I will ever meet another kobold?”

“That’s hard to say, Kreet. Your kind are rare around here, and they don’t live above ground. Most that are caught are put to work as slaves in the mines. Do you miss them?”

Kreet sighed, mimicking human expression. “I… I don’t know anymore. I’ve been around Big People too long. But, someday, I’ll mature. I would like to survive to raise my own clutch.”

“My! Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself young one? By my understanding you’ve a good number of years yet before you’ve reached the egg-laying age!”

“I know,” she said, turning back to her work. Minutes later, she resumed the conversation. Long stretches of silence were common between them, and she liked this time with him. “But I can’t lay eggs without a mate, you know. I’m not a chicken.”

The old man stood up and held his hands out to her. She set aside her needlework and happily accepted this embrace. Even though the farmer’s family and the other monks were friendly enough towards her, she couldn’t help but notice that they never touched her if they could avoid it. Only the old man treated her as a true equal, and she had loved him for that.

“No, you’re no chicken, Kreet. I’m not feeling well though. I’m going to go to bed early today. Would you mind cleaning up for me?”

“Certainly sir,” she said, and she watched him open the rickety door for the last time. In the morning he was dead, and Kreet was alone again.

The morning was bright to her eyes, but not intolerable. Ka’Plo said the sun was behind the clouds, and so she was spared the blinding, direct sunlight. Still, she asked him for a bit of thin cloth that she happily took and fashioned a sort of blindfold that she wore the rest of the day, – that still allowed her to see without hurting her eyes.

“You’re very good with those hands of yours, Kreet!”

“Do you think so? I’m not as good as my mother was, but she did show me how to do things. I could fix your covering if you want me to,” she said as they packed up and began to resume their journey.

“When we get home,” he said, “that would be wonderful! I am a poor man, Kreet. You should know that. But I have a modest cabin in some woods not too far away. We should get there by noon.”

They started walking down the road, but Kreet began to find it hard to keep up with Ka’Plo’s stride. When he asked her if she would like to ride on his shoulders, she practically beamed with joy.

“Kreet, you should tell me when something’s bothering you! I’ve tired you out trying to keep up with me, haven’t I?”

“No!” she shouted, trying to climb up his legs, belying her protests. “I’m not tired! I can keep up with you fine!” she said, her muscles protesting. “But if you want me to ride on your shoulders, I will not mind.”

“Here,” he said, squatting down so she could climb up. “Hop aboard, Kreet.”

They passed a few travelers on the way, and Kreet was deathly afraid they would see her and kill her – but in fact they just gave her an odd look and continued on.

“Kreet, you should learn some of our words, don’t you think? Can you say this?” “See if you can say ‘hello’”

It took some repetition, but before long she was greeting the other travelers with a hearty “Hello, Sir, or Hellow, Ma’am!”.  However, Ka’Plo had to explain the difference between “Sir” and “Ma’am” a few times.

“Don’t be silly, Ka’Plo. Of course I know the difference between male and female. But it’s easier to tell in a clan. You know everybody. You Big People are so wrapped up in clothes there’s no way to tell!”

“Well, usually our women have longer hair, though that’s not always true either. Only the men have beards too, so that’s another way to tell.”

“The elves don’t have beards,” Kreet stated, rather proud of her knowledge she’d learned at her father’s knee.

“That is true. Also, when they talk, women’s voices are higher pitched. Breasts are another difference.”

“What are breasts?”

Ka’Plo laughed. He’d finally explained laughter to her some time earlier. Then he held his hands under his chest. “These things. Women have them. Men don’t.”

Kreet scratched her head, but accepted it. When the next travelers passed, she spotted them.

“The one on the left is a woman, isn’t she? She has breasts!”

“Yes, that’s a woman alright.”

Kreet looked down at herself. “I don’t have breasts.”

Ka’Plo sighed. “No Kreet. Kobolds don’t have breasts. They’re for ‘nursing’, and your kind doesn’t ‘nurse’.”

“Nursing?” Kreet said the unfamiliar word, and Ka’Plo explained as best he could in a language that had few words for the subject.

Finally, they turned off the road, onto a small path and into some woods where Ka’Plo’s cabin stood decrepit but serviceable.

“I wish I had breasts,” Kreet said, climbing down from Ka’Plo’s shoulders.

“Kreet, even if your kind had them, you would be too young anyway. And there’s no good in wishing for something you can’t have. Now, let me show you around.”

Kreet understood the wisdom of his words. She would never be Big. She would always have a tail. She would always have a snout. Her scales would never be skin. She would never have a beard. She would never have breasts. She would never have a clan. She would never fit in.

———————–

Ka’Plo didn’t fully understand why Kreet looked so sad when he showed her the little cabin, but he knew she’d been through a lot. After she’d been introduced to the cat and the little outhouse behind the one-room shack, he left her alone in a corner to cry a little while he busied himself getting some food together for them. 

He looked at her occasionally while he cooked. Most people would see a little monster at best – all fangs, claws, scales and tail. But he had spent years studying her kind. He’d even adopted another many years ago, though that hadn’t ended up well; for him or the ‘bold. And now he’d killed the last of the kobolds in the caverns too. True, he hadn’t literally killed them, but he might as well have. In his studies he had become a local expert and had mapped most of the major passages of the caverns here, primarily looking for kobolds. They were elusive enough creatures, but every time some group of Adventurers would go into the caverns and run across a clan he would learn more about them by careful examination of the carcasses left behind.

Yet he was poor. No matter his expertise in the little dragonlings, there simply was no wealth to be had in being a kobold scholar. This last band had needed a guide, he had needed their coin, so he had agreed – and now regretted that decision with every fiber of his being. There had been only one kobold clan left in the caverns. He could not have imagined that this group would actually find them! But find them they had, and they had done what everyone before them had done. Mass slaughter. They had cut the angry little lizards down without hesitation. They had to have some reason for all that armor and weaponry of course, and slaying kobolds had become that reason far too quickly.

Despite this slaughter, a miracle had happened. This one little kobold had survived. She would be his life, he swore. He would do anything he could to keep her alive. When he had slightly ‘revised’ the Adventurer’s map after the slaughter, he slid it back into their pack with a glad heart. They would never emerge from the caverns again. It was inadequate retribution for what they’d done to Kreet’s family, but it would have to do.