Stones flew, and the two gremlins were as far back in their cages as they could get. Some stones still entered the cages.
They weren't just any stones. They were sharpened.
Nick was crying openly from a wound on his leg. Darion looked at his fellow gremlin and weighed his options.
He could stay silent and be stoned to death. Grandpa Thinker wasn't doing anything to stop his employees.
Or he could confess, become broke, and slink back to Theanore. But what if the nymph refused to have him?
It was a possibility, a grim one.
He had done an evil thing, and the nymph was full of echo chamber kindergarten goodness. She would send him away, and then Darion would be homeless.
But being stoned to death was worse than that.
Darion screamed at the top of his lungs:
"I'll confess! I did it. It wasn't Nick."
The stones stopped flying and Nick's hiccuping receded.