The original Princess and the Goblin story is owned by George MacDonald, and the movie by Entertainment Film Distributions and Budapest Film. Any unrecognized characters are mine.

Guest 1: Well, when you're trying to hurry to save someone from an evil, mad animal that could easily tear them to pieces, you tend to make irrational decisions. I imagine that had Irene sifted through the weapons until she found one that was lighter, Froglip would be dead.

Guest 2: Thank you :) I have a few pictures on my DeviantART page (same username) but they're not recent, especially with the kind of scars he has. I'm definitely planning on drawing him, as well as the named wolves from Skewer Summit, at some point though. My free time is limited these days though.

Even when walking through the forest on your way to help a friend and common enemy to kill a bigger enemy for revenge, one still has their usual needs. Food and drink are two of those needs, of course, as well as sleep. But another one was just as important.

"We need to stop for a few minutes," Curdie announced.

Irene and Froglip froze and looked back at him. It had been the day after she started teaching him to read, and she had one of her books open in her hands, pointing at various small words for him to pronounce. She had already taught him the alphabet and some simple words, trying to recall how she herself had been taught to read. She had quickly realized that though both humans and goblins spoke the same language, their written languages were far different.

Despite that, Froglip proved to be a fast learner, albeit with a few mistakes that she had quickly corrected him in. It made her feel bad about saying he wasn't clever those days ago when he was accused of killing her father. Regarding the fact that he had learned how to fend for himself, including making his own spear after being banished from his home, he proved to be smarter than she had initially thought.

"Why do we need to stop?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I need to... take a break," the miner said slowly, glancing at Irene.

Rolling his eyes, Froglip waved him off. "Hurry up."

"You better not hurt Irene-"

"-are we really going down this road again? We've stopped for piss breaks multiple times, sometimes where she and I were left alone while you did your business, and how many times have I laid even a claw on her? What would I have to gain from doing so anyway?"

Curdie was about to counter, as well as tell him off for swearing, but he decided to let it go. He didn't want to start another argument and upset Irene again. Instead, he stepped closer to her and said quietly, "Remember, scream if you need me."

"I know, Curdie," she nodded, though she looked a little exasperated as well, "but I will be all right."

Nodding, he walked off into the brush until he was unseen by the both of them and his footsteps disappeared.

She looked back at her book, flipped the page, and was about to point out some more small words when she saw the image on the paper: it was a large lion, roaring and trying to rear up on its hind legs. A strong man was on its back, wrapping his arms tightly around the beast's neck. The title of the story was "The Twelve Labours of Heracles", and underneath that in smaller letters was "The First Labour – The Nemean Lion".

She gazed down at the picture in thought until she realized Froglip was calling out to her. Looking up, she saw he was looking at her with a perplexed expression. "My apologies, I was simply... thinking."

Glancing at the picture, he asked, "About what?"

"Well, seeing this lion... it's silly," she chuckled, shaking her head, "but it reminded me of my own cat, Turnip."

"The gray kit with the white paw?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded, surprised he had remembered him. "I was wondering if he would follow us on our journey, as he often accompanied me when I played outside... but I guess not this time."

"Where is he now?"

"Probably at home, asleep in front of the fire with a belly full of cream. He's quite old actually, and he doesn't roam about as often as he used to do. So, I suppose I don't blame him for not coming along." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Did you have a cat as well? A dark-blue cat with a black mane, yellow eyes, and a devil's tail?"

"Yes, I did," Froglip nodded. "Grazzlegritch."

"Graz-what?"

"Grazzlegritch," he repeated slowly. "He eventually came to live with me after I was banished, though he sometimes disappeared for periods of time."

"Hunting, perhaps?"

"Possibly."

"Turnip sometimes left for a while after the war as well... they actually fought one time. Your cat, Grazzelgretch-"

"-Grazzlegritch."

"Yes, well anyway, he came into my room one night and Turnip fought him. He scratched me, and I managed to hide away. He must have left that same night. This was just after I had learned of goblins and their pets' existence. If I may ask, how did you come about him?"

"A few years before the war, after D-erm," he paused, looking uncomfortable for a brief minute, before continuing, "well, several years before the war, anyway, I was allowed to choose from a group of goblin pets."

"I think I know what you're talking about," Irene said. "Several ugly-looking creatures?"

"Ugly to you, maybe," he smirked. "But at any rate, I chose the cat because... well, I was young, and I liked the way he looked the best. And he proved to be like me: cunning, sneaky, and charming." His smirk widened as he turned to Irene. "A good match, eh?"

"I suppose I would agree if I were a goblin as well," she replied smoothly, though she was smiling as well.

To her surprise, he laughed at her answer. Not mockingly, but in a genuinely-amused manner. "Yes, I guess that's true," he chuckled, brushing his hair back.

She continued to smile, and actually found herself liking his laugh. It sounded nicer than when he laughed mockingly or with contempt. "Does his name mean anything?"

"It does, actually. 'Grazzle' means 'beast', and 'gritch' means 'battle'. Thus, 'battle-beast'. What about your cat? Since we're talking about pets, how did you get him?"

"When I was a little girl, Father took me to see one of the nearby wheat farmers." She frowned when Froglip snorted and muttered something about peasants under his breath. "Father always taught me to communicate with lower-class people. For example, without the wheat farmers, we would be more susceptible to starvation. And without our protection of the land, including wheat farmers, they wouldn't be protected, in simple man's terms. We work together and help keep each other alive."

Froglip simply shrugged. Decided to not argue her point further, she continued, "But anyway, I was playing in their barn, and I found a mother cat and her litter of kittens. They were all wary of me, save for one. I was able to play with him, pet him, and even hold him. When Father said it was time to go home, I begged for him to let me keep him, and the rest is history."

"Why would you name him 'Turnip' though?"

"Because I found them next to a bag of turnips."

Froglip began laughing, throwing his head back and laying a hand on his forehead. "Stop it!" she protested, holding the book in one arm and smacking his chest with the other hand. "I was a child, need I remind you? Besides, I would have thought Grazzlegritch was simply gibberish that you liked the sound of, and thought it would be a good name."

He had calmed down by now, though he was still chuckling quietly, rubbing his chest where she had hit him. "Yes, I guess that's also a good theory. You hit hard for a Sun-Person, you know?"

"I know the right places to hit is all," she smirked.

He laughed again, though she joined this time. By this time, Curdie had returned. "Sorry for taking so long."

"A bit of trouble with the plumbing?" Froglip quipped.

"Stop it," Irene admonished him, shoving him in the shoulder. She looked at Curdie concerned when she noticed his expression. He looked conflicted and sad. "Are you all right?" she asked gently, her smile having fallen from her face.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said quickly, though he relaxed when he saw both Irene and Froglip looking at him in confusion. "I'm just... I'm tired, and I miss home. Shall we continue on then?"

Looking back at Curdie once more, Froglip began walking off again. Irene followed behind, putting her book back into her bag. Froglip didn't seem interested in learning to read at the moment, and she didn't think she would be able to focus on teaching him at the moment anyway.

Curdie had indeed been gone for a long while; longer than he had been in the past few days they had been traveling. Not to mention his expression when he returned. Was he truly homesick? If that were the case, she wondered if she should let him go home. While he was her best friend, and she would love for him to be there alongside her for help—no matter if Froglip thinks they wouldn't need his help—this wasn't his fight. Dirtclaw did nothing to him or his family, and thus Curdie had no means for revenge against him.

But then she had another thought: was he conflicted and sad because he heard her and Froglip getting along? Was he worried about her getting too close to him? Perhaps he was worried that Froglip would do something to hurt her, whether physically or emotionally.

Or... maybe, just maybe... he was jealous?