Because he was Gribble, of the Bonecrusher Clan. And no runt or weakling could have survived this long in the teeth of such contempt and abuse. That stubborn spark in him, that mulish refusal to just lay down and die...maybe that was a kind of strength too. 

And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to see him through. To lead him to the destiny he could feel calling to him, even if he couldn't put a name to it yet. 

There in the dark, clutching his ancestor's charm like a drowning goblin seizing a bit of driftwood, Gribble made a vow to himself and any gods that might be listening. He would show them all what he was made of. He would carve out a legend of his own, even if it killed him.

This wretched cave, this daily gauntlet of humiliation and pain...it would not be the end of his story. Only the bitter beginning of a tale that would echo through goblin history.

With a grunt of pain and effort, Gribble levered himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he fought to steady himself. He couldn't change the body the gods had given him. Couldn't magically transform into a hulking warrior overnight. 

But he could still act. Still seize any chance to claw his way up from the bottom of the heap. And as he stood there, breathing hard and shaking off the lingering ache of Krub's blow, Gribble caught a sudden skittering movement out of the corner of his eye.

He spun to face it, instantly alert, falling into the wary crouch that any goblin learned early if they wanted to survive the dangers of the deep caves. There, clinging to the craggy wall only a few feet away, was a darting shadow about the size of Gribble's hand.

The young goblin squinted, straining to make out details in the gloom, and felt a sudden thrill of excitement as he realized what he was seeing. A cave lizard - a fat, juicy one by the look of it, covered in glittering scales and easily as long as Gribble's forearm.

Cave lizards were a rare treat - quick and canny, with flesh that was succulent and savory when roasted over the cookfire. Goblins prized them as a delicacy, but they were notoriously hard to catch, able to scurry up sheer stone and vanish into impossibly small cracks at the first hint of danger.

Gribble's mouth watered at the thought of sinking his fangs into that hot, greasy meat. His stomach gave a painful twist, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the meager morning meal of gruel and cave fungus. He was as hollow as a drum inside, weak with hunger on top of all his other pains.

If he could kill this lizard and offer its meat to the clan for dinner, it would show them that he wasn't completely useless after all. They would have to see that he was able to contribute, to provide for the pack in his own way. This was the perfect opportunity.

Moving with exaggerated slowness and care, Gribble drew his small dagger from his belt. He hardly dared to breathe as he began creeping towards the oblivious lizard on silent, bare feet. His heart thundered against his ribs as he drew closer and closer, hardly believing that the creature hadn't yet noticed his approach.

He managed to get within striking distance, close enough to see the lazy flick of the lizard's forked tongue as it tasted the dank air. Gribble tightened his grip on the dagger's handle, his palms slick with nervous sweat. This was it, his one chance to prove his worth. He couldn't afford to mess this up.

With a strangled cry that was half desperation and half prayer, Gribble leapt forward in a clumsy lunge. He brought the dagger down with all his meager strength, squeezing his eyes shut at the last second, terrified that he would miss his target.

There was a meaty thunk, and Gribble felt a hot gush of liquid splash over his hands. His eyes flew open and he stared down in shock. The dagger was lodged deep in the lizard's thick neck, nearly decapitating the creature. It had died instantly, its body now lying in a rapidly spreading pool of dark blood on the cavern floor.

Gribble gaped at the gory scene, barely able to process what he had just accomplished. He had done it. He had actually killed something all on his own, with no help from anyone else. A fierce surge of pride swelled in his narrow chest.

Seizing the lizard's limp tail, Gribble yanked his dagger free from its flesh with a wet sucking sound. He hardly even noticed the blood that now coated his hands and spattered his arms. All he could think about was getting back to the main cavern to show the rest of the pack what he had managed to do.

Gripping his prize firmly, Gribble rushed through the winding tunnels as fast as his short legs could carry him. He bounded into the common area with a manic, gap-toothed grin stretching his homely face.

"Look everyone, look what I did!" Gribble crowed, holding the dead lizard aloft by its tail for all to see. "I caught us some dinner!"

Dozens of yellow eyes swiveled to stare at Gribble in surprise, conversations trailing off into confused silence. For a breathless moment, no one reacted. Then Krub shouldered his way forward with a nasty scowl darkening his brutish features.

Before Gribble could even blink, the larger goblin had snatched the lizard corpse out of his hands. Krub brought it up to his blunt snout and sniffed it suspiciously.

"Thanks for the snack, squirt," Krub said with a dismissive sneer.

He sank his fangs into the lizard's flank and tore away a big, juicy chunk of meat. Chewing noisily, Krub tossed the mangled carcass to Griz and the other young warriors clustered around him. They descended upon it in a flurry of grasping claws and gnashing teeth, greedily devouring every scrap of flesh and gristle.

Gribble watched helplessly as the lizard he had worked so hard to catch disappeared down their gullets in a matter of seconds. He hadn't even gotten to taste a single bite of the meat himself. His shoulders slumped as a bitter sense of defeat crashed over him.

The rest of the pack had already lost interest, turning back to their own conversations and activities. No one offered Gribble a word of praise or congratulations. No one seemed to care about the brave and difficult thing he had just accomplished.

To them, he was still just useless little Gribble, the runt of the clan who would never amount to anything. In their eyes, one measly lizard couldn't make up for a lifetime of being a weak, pitiful burden on the pack.

Sighing heavily, Gribble turned and began trudging back to his lonely corner of the cavern. The flush of victory had faded, leaving him feeling more isolated and inadequate than ever. But as he sank down onto the damp stone floor, Gribble silently renewed his vow to the goblin gods.

He would prove his worth to the pack, no matter what it took or how long he had to keep trying. Gribble refused to resign himself to being the clan whipping boy forever. There had to be something he was meant to do, some reason the gods had seen fit to give him life and allow him to survive this long.

One day, somehow, he would show them all what Gribble the goblin was truly made of. They would have no choice but to respect his contributions and accept him as one of their own. Until then, he would just have to keep his head down, weather the cruelty and abuse, and never stop looking for his chance to shine.