A Fire goblin

A snap of the fingers and its thumbnail lit up like a candle. The creature looking through the circular window only had one good eye, the other one was a glass eye that most of the time was white.

The window was stained-glass full of colours. He walked away, wobbling and cursing as he shook the nail to turn it off.
To make sure everything was fine he turned one more time to look at his house, it seemed fine, so he kept walking. Two more steps and something inside him made him turn back. The house was fine, just like every other winter morning.

It was a long walk from the house to the frozen door, where there was a small window of time in which the guard fell asleep. Behind the door was the last reserves of wood. A fortune was stolen and saved up by the king.

Hungry, grumpy, and tired, this fire goblin had to manage to steal some wood to not starve to death. Under the ruling of this king, not only was there not enough wood to go around for everybody, but it also matched with the longest and most brutal winter in about a thousand years.

There was no way to prove it, but there was a big chance that the guard wasn’t sleeping. The fire goblin wasn’t agile or quiet, and his blind spot did not help either. Assuming that was the case, he never took much, or else the guard would probably pay for it with their life. He took two or three logs that he would ration for weeks, and a bag full of sawdust that he picked up around the giant piles of wood.

He always looked back at the house Because he's burned a couple already. Eating wood too late at night and waking up to find that he, by mistake, had lit the house on fire.