Author's Note
This drabble was written for a challenge over the Bards of Prydain forum. Its the first time I've written Gurgi, and despite it being only a brief passage, I'm sure there's still plenty of room for improvement. I hope you can enjoy it, despite it's painfully short length [I'm not used to writing drabbles].
When he finally came to a halt, breathless and exhausted, the gleaming blades of the warriors were still firmly emblazoned upon Gurgi's imagination. They filled the whole of his mind, striking left and right, inflicting the mightiest of hackings upon his poor tender head in a series of endless morbid fantasies. He clutched his arms about himself. For the hundredth time, he reminded himself that such slashings and gashings were not for him.
And then, in an instant, felt another image enter his brain.
Prickings and stickings of poor Gurgi's conscience. He leaves noble lords who offer him crunchings and munchings. Oh shame! Oh foolish, ungrateful Gurgi!
But what can Gurgi do? He is not strong enough to stop mighty warriors, oh no.
But what of others? Yes, perhaps other can help. But who does Gurgi know?
He racked his brain for an answer to that question…