You promptly begin yelling and suitable amounts of sword-brandishing, smacking the goblins into line where necessary. Lockjaw, in particular, needs a good poke with the sword to get his teeth out of a dead Elf's neck.
The shaman gets up off his seat on another elf's back, tearing a good strip of muscle off. "We go now?" He inquired, before you affirm. "I going! I going...might be wise to let breeders finish, maybe?" He asks, jerking a thumb towards the bushes where the five fastest runners are getting their stool-high freak on.
The remaining twenty-five goblins begin to fan out at your direction, quickly stumbling across some places where a bit of work could make an underground warren.
There's a small cave near the riverside, though none of the cowardly little monsters have investigated it yet, it seems like it'd be large enough to squat in for a bit.
Two more goblins come back to the caravan site in under an hour, their gnarled feet kicking up dirt as they run. "Fires!" One of them shrieks, "Smoke down the road! People! Fooooooood!"
The others, not settled with leaving themselves less than utterly stuffed to the point of vomiting, echo the hum of "Food" at the mention of someone who can make fires.
Unfortunately, further south down the road is heading towards the Black Lotus Tribe's territory. A bunch of sneaky little goblin buggers, no bigger than your own tribe, that loot from humans. Most notably named due to the plant they live near.
Another group of goblins emerges from the woods to the east, your scouts breathing hard. "Worgies!" He declares happily, and you notice one of their number went missing. Probably tried to ride the wild wolf-things out of sheer stupidity.
"Only four or five, though, boss. But very pretty worgies!"