Warren stepped down from his wagon. Geeser had built a stone ring outside and was preparing Warren’s dinner. The little goblin acted much like a manservant to the werewolf.
He originally stowed away on one of the wagons when they passed through Cruw Thicket on their way to Midhorn. It wasn’t difficult to blackmail him into serving the manager of the circus over the alternative of being left in Midhorn with the dwarves. He kept the wagon tidy, made up the fire each night and did all the cooking. Warren wasn’t difficult to feed, red meat, lightly seared.
Warren picked up the heavy metal poker by the fire.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told Geeser.
Geeser cringed, but said nothing. He only crossed Warren once. That was enough. He learned his lesson. The little shape shifter was not worth taking another beating from the werewolf. Geeser could rationalize his non-interference. Warren wouldn’t kill the boy. He spent too much money on him. He merely wanted to torture him a bit. It was part of Warren’s personality to make everyone uncomfortable and aware, that at all times, he was the boss.