The hot venison filled his mouth with saliva. He washed it down with another swallow of lager.
He rubbed his hands together in front of the fire, thinking of sea-green eyes. They had creased with pleasure as the golden fabric flowed through his hands.
The little man let a giggle escape his lips. Tomorrow the plan would be complete. He could almost feel the weight of the baby in his arms, the same eyes staring up at him. Leverage.
A piece of dry pine became his partner in a jig. He slurred, to the frozen forest, “Rumpelstiltskin is my name”.