Gregaros wordlessly moved from body to body over the three goblins, pausing momentarily over each one. He stepped back, wiping blood from the blade of his dagger and stared blindly into the darkness in the direction from which they had come, a crease in his scarred brow.
"It's done," his voice was a hiss barely above the sound of the breeze.

He returned the dagger to a scabbard at his hip and promptly set to dragging the corpses into the bushes downwind of the camp.

Once the three bodies were removed, he returned to his bedroll, a look of profound weariness on his face, and sank down to sit untidily and peer at the embers of the fire.
Slitting the throats of a sleeping enemy. A fine hero I will make.

Spoiler
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He thanks anyone who assists in dragging the corpses. He doesn't loot the bodies, or touch them for any longer than he absolutely has to.