Tilda was a young goblin, but her eyes already carried a certain weight. On an ordinary day — with no marked date, no grand goodbyes — she decided to leave. She didn’t quite know what she was looking for, only that she needed to go. Something inside her pushed her away, as if the world beyond held answers her home silently kept hidden.

  She had grown up surrounded by the love of her mother and grandparents, in a home full of care and old stories. But even with all that affection, there was a constant restlessness, like a whisper only she could hear. A soft but persistent calling, saying there was more — and that she had to find it on her own.

  The problem was, she didn’t know what she was looking for. She liked so many things: nature, the arts, the unique flavors of food (and the intriguing bitterness of certain drinks). She loved to watch people come and go, each immersed in their own journey. But no matter how hard she tried, Tilda couldn’t find a purpose that truly felt like her own.

  So, one day, she simply left. She grabbed her grandfather’s old shield, her grandmother’s sword, stuffed some clothes into a bag, and set off. At first, everything felt like a grand adventure. But melancholy, always lurking, never took long to return. Many times, Tilda found herself sitting alone, staring into nothingness, asking herself:

  “What should I be doing? Where is my place in the world?”

  During one of her wanderings, crossing the Whispering Valley — so named for the way the wind rustled the trees, as if they murmured forgotten secrets — Tilda decided to stop and rest. It was early morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.

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  By the edge of a stream, she settled in and began to prepare a snack: bread with eggs, seasoned with the cheese and spices she always carried with her. Soon, the aroma filled the air, warm and comforting, like a subtle invitation to life.

  That’s when she heard a noise in the treetops. She immediately became alert. She knew some monkeys in the area had a habit of stealing food from travelers and could be dangerous in groups. But this sound seemed to come from just one creature. She decided it wasn’t a threat.

  She turned her attention back to the still-warm bread — when something unexpected happened. In front of her, perched on the shield leaning against a tree, appeared a small dragon. It stared at Tilda with its tongue out, its expression more curious than threatening. The shield gave way under the visitor’s weight, and the little dragon fell awkwardly to the ground.

  It quickly got up, trying to look imposing, as if it were one of the legendary dragons: massive, powerful, fearsome. But of course… it was hard to take such a tiny dragon seriously.

  Tilda almost laughed. She took a piece of bread and tossed it to him. The little dragon, clearly starving, devoured it without even chewing. Still, it remained there, looking at her with expectation.

  Then, she decided to try something different. She took another piece of bread, extended her hand, and waited. The little dragon hesitated for a moment, suspicious, but soon crept forward with cautious steps. In a swift move, it snatched the bread straight from her hand — and swallowed it in an instant.