Bones.

Mataoka met a friendly goblin, a Janus creature with two faces, who knew his business well. To have something, a token, from her ancestral shaman past would be worth its weight in salt and gold. The brief ethereal week the faire was there, the fairy circle that would disappear at midnight, was not enough time for her to do all she needed to do to earn this mask. (Her shaman pockets were filled with dirt and grass, never gold or tokens.) She shrugged – next time the moon was full the faire would sprout in the dark woods again, barking blood and entertainment. The cage fight was certain to be for the benefit of the carnival workers, for their delight and amusement. Wondering what was up the path, down this glen, she transformed into her wolf spirit, and explored. She came upon a grisly discovery: a rookery of cages, filled with small bones, strongly bolted still. The cages looked almost new, but the bones, stripped of all flesh and remnants of clothing, told another tale. Whose bones were they? Goblins, gnomes…children? She sniffed, but the scents of cakes and beer overtook even her sense of smell. Movement: another wolf, just over there. He was gone, quick as a spark to ash. Her heart felt heavy, and slowed down her movement. Mataoka returned home.

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