Gemotions

The tiny clay figures, once carefully arranged on the windowsill of the living room, were now sprawled across Leo's bedroom floor, locked in elaborate, imaginary battles. He’d spent years crafting them, each soldier, each beast, a testament to patient artistry. He picked one up – a crude goblin, almost unrecognisable. His own work? No. Leo’s six-year-old, Finn, had clearly been at it. A tiny hand-written note lay beside it, "Goblini Slayr." A rush of warmth, followed by a knot in his stomach, tightened around his chest. He looked at the chaos, the gleam in Finn's eye when he'd come in earlier, holding a handful of freshly painted creations, and found himself at a loss for words.