Sharbush looked down at the human village. He screwed up his beady eyes, trying to focus on the inhabitants as they worked their plots and pushed their handcarts to and fro. After a few moments of contorting his features into various experimental positions he gave up.

"Malrat," he snapped at goblin next to him. "How do those villagers look?"

Malrat took the crude, leather-bound telescope away from his eye and turned in his saddle to face Sharbush. "There's a few younger ones. Maybe about five of them are 18 or 19 or so. The rest are no good, we can kill them and just take the food. Maybe carve up some of the dead ones."

Sharbush growled in frustration. Seemed like there were fewer and fewer human girls of the right age these days. Their ponygirls died in battle faster than they could be replaced and they were in danger of running out. The goblins relied on their ponygirls to move quickly, and without them they would not be able to mount the food raids that were essential to their survival. Given the choice he would prefer another animal entirely to ride – human girls weren’t strong enough to make good pack animals, and once deprived of their oh-so-precious clothing they tended to die off in the winter snows. But only humans had the sureness of foot to travel through the goblins' mountain home, and of them, the males were too stubborn and posed a risk to the smaller goblins with their aggressive nature and greater strength – so ponygirls it was.

"Fine, whatever." His ponygirl gave a snort of shock as he yanked hard on the left rein, turning her in place so he could address the rest of the raiding party. "You heard him," he barked. "You, you, you, you and you - lassos ready. The rest of you, spears. Get in there quick. I don't want anyone escaping to get help."

There were a few lazy nods of comprehension, and shuffles as some of the goblins rummaged for lengths of rope. Satisfied, Sharbush waved his arm and bashed his grey, leathery heels against his ponygirl’s hips, and the goblins set off down the hill into the valley. Masking their approach behind a large copse of trees, Sharbush waited until they were fifty yards or so from the nearest allotment, and snarled, "now!"

The were pained grunts as the ponygirls were bitten by their riders' heels and spear-shafts, and launched themselves forwards.

****

Sharbush looked over the day's haul, a few sacks of grain, some legs of ham, and four whimpering teenage girls. At least twenty villagers had been killed, and one of the goblins had been killed by a hoe-blow to the head – but Sharbush had never liked him anyway. He waddled over to the four captives, stripped and bound and piled up awkwardly against the half-filled grain sacks. He gave a gravelly sigh. Time was he wouldn't have left the cave for this.

The nearest one, a blonde girl of about eighteen, looked at him wide-eyed with fear and tried to cringe away as he approached. He looked her over critically. She was a good ten inches shorter than his own mount, which was a barbarian woman from the highlands north of the mountains. He grabbed a handful of her pale flesh with a clawed, bony hand, and she yelped through her gag as he tugged violently. Just as he had thought - hardly any muscle at all. He glanced over at his own ponygirl, which had the ruddy complexion and rippling muscles of a creature born to the mountains - she was superior in every way to this soft valley-dweller. Just the fear shown by the blonde proved that. No spirit.

Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. "Faramuk," he shouted, calling to his slave trainer.

"Chief?"

"We're ready to go. Get the food strapped to these four and tie them together. You can start breaking them in as soon as we get back to camp."

"Righto."

Several goblins rode over and held the four girls at spearpoint while others untied their ankles, and used the ropes to sling the sacks of wheat and legs of ham over their shoulders. Until they were ready to ride they'd be pack animals. Their arms were left bound behind their backs - they wouldn’t be using them again so they might as well start getting used to it now. To finish with Faramuk joined them together in a line with a rope that ran around their necks, the front end of which he attached to his own pony's saddle.

Sharbush kicked his ponygirl in the ankle and she obediently knelt so he could climb into the saddle on her back. A sharp yank of the reins and she rose again.

"Right! Time to go!" he bellowed. The goblins turned away from the burnt shell of the village and rode back towards the foothills, their newest acquisitions awkwardly stumbling along behind them. Maybe, though Sharbush, just maybe, things would pick up again next year.