Though the "O" in "TOWN" was conveniently draining through the crack, the "O" in "WELCOME" was not. In fact, it was nearly full of chilly rain water, dancing on the surface with the drops, and only had a few bits of leaves and twigs swirling in the bottom. And Guffin, already being cold and wet, was quite determinted to remove the road dust and assorted slime and grime, even if it meant staying cold and wet a little longer.
They had procured a smaller bag from within the giant backpack; a pink and quilted affair, with only flowers patterned into the weave itself, rather than a vast amount of patchwork and stitching. Keeping their eyes conveniently on two different directions of the forest, as was customary, the goblin creature stripped out of the rather-voluminous-but-still-a-bit-tight coveralls, and the raggedy tie-dye shirt, leaving behind only a lumpy mass of sticky green-grey skin with pink bits in the edges, and a pair of baggy, raggy shorts that were no longer any color at all but a yellowish grey. The discarded clothes were tossed unceremoniously into the pooling rainwater, closely followed by the whole of Guffin, making a rather risky belly flop into the shallow carving with a shout.
Harriet, still arguing with her tent, looked up briefly at the goblin's cry, and quickly looked back down again. The noise had not been an alarm, but a wailing argument with the concept of cold water.
Screeching and yodelling in a way that was somehow even worse than the sounds of the Pumpkintown Opry, the goblin went about their work. Pink foaming soap from the quilted bag for the laundry, and green slimy soap for skin. A sharp stick to pick out all three of their teeth, one by one, and a cup to swirl them in for a moment until even that last, most stubborn popcorn kernel had washed away, before setting the teeth carefully back in the same slime they'd come from. A pair of wooden tweezers to pull alarmingly large hairs and crunchy bits from between long, sticky toes. Even Guffin's eyes flicked back and forth, back and forth, even pointing in the same direction a time or two, and came back to their usual position just a bit shinier than before. A strange little scrub-brush scoured off grime and dust with a rough green edge, and then soothed angry pink skin back to greyish-green with a softer yellow edge.
Still cold, still wet, without even bothering with anything resembling a towel (at least in the open rainstorm), but significantly cleaner and more satisfied-looking, Guffin waddled tiredly back towards their little umbrella-yurt across the other "O" from Harriet's barely-standing A-frame.
"Your turn!" the goblin announced cheerfully, making to pat the fabric of the mage's tent... which immediately imploded to a soggy wail and a flailing elf, as Guffin disappeared into their own yurt and did not emerge again.