The Toll of the Troll - 1. The Toll of the Troll

The bridge was perfect. Perfectly perfect.

At the foot of the vast mountain range on the edge of the Kingdom of Heere began a wide, rushing river that led to the sea. High above, in the peaks covered winter-to-spring-to-winter again by snow, were thick, crusty glaciers, crunching their way forward in tiny, unobservable movements. In places, the sun heated the ice and the glacier broke, but at the very bottom, where heat and pressure combined, water trickled free.

The water, frozen solid since time immemorial, joined together with another trickle from another portion of the glacier. They swirled around rocks and trees, crevasses and canyons, and became a small stream, sparkling and blue and often cloudy from the minerals trapped within the ancient ice field.

The stream twisted and turned and ran down the mountains until it became a river. At the base of the mountain was a level section of flat plateau, green and filled with growing things. The land sloped up and away from the river, cutting the meadow into unequal halves joined by a bridge of ropes and slabs of wood. The bridge was not so narrow as to prevent a steady horse or careful rider to cross safely; nor so high that a fall meant instant death. The water was cold enough to shock, and the cliffs sheer enough to prevent an easy escape from the rapids, but a few miles South, the river opened into a shallow lake, where once the river had bent sharply and had now worn away the rocks and earth in its path.

To the bridge and its meadows came a thing one day that upon first glance appeared wholly animal and ugly. Its hair was long, crusted and tangled with dirt and grime, dangling free in greasy strands from its head and down its back. From the base of the spine was a whip-like tail, with a tuft of the same hair on the end. The limbs were long and gangly, and when the creature sat, it crouched with knees bent up under the chin and arms hanging free by its sides. There were only three toes, and they ended with claws. The fingers, too, seemed extraordinarily long, the nails strong and sharp. The skin was dark, either from exposure to sun or the dirt that camouflaged the scrap of hide dangling over its groin, hanging by string that was no more than handfuls of hair twisted together.

The creature's eyes were big and blue and sparkled, the nose small and snubbed, and the smile was wide and filled with crooked, jagged teeth.

Perfect.

Beneath the supports on the near side of the bride, the land sloped down slightly, and a path could be found for one careful enough down to a cave nestled amongst the rocks of the cliff-face. More climbing brought the creature to the base of the cliffs, where the river deposited small, rounded stones carried down from the glacier. The river sparkled gaily under any amount of sunlight and sometimes flakes of something gold-ish and soft floated downstream and adhered to the rocks soft beneath the creature's feet.

There were fish, too. Big fish, little fish, and every manner of fish in between. In the late fall, as winter approached, the giant salmon from the sea would fight their way upriver to mate and lay eggs and dash their dying, torn, and bloated bodies upon the shore. The time was not yet at hand, but there were still plenty of fish within the clear water of the river.

Inside the cave, the creature swept out the remains of animal fur and small bones to make room for a small hoard. Twisted bits of metal, a few coins, jewelry, the kinds of things often found in a raccoon's or a magpie's nest, and lovingly cared for and displayed. On bright, sunny days, pieces would be brought out into the daylight and turned this way and that upon the rocks to be admired.

Flowers and plants grew unchecked in this abandoned wilderness. The grass grew taller than a man, making a soft, thick bed for the woodland creatures, and hiding many a small mouse or rabbit or deer. Birds chirped at all hours of the day and predators prowled and all was peaceful and natural and calm.

A narrow bridle-path led up to and away from the bridge, snaking across the meadows and winding first one way up higher into the mountains, and then lower towards the flat lands and the cities there. No wagons came this way on the steep, narrow, and twisting path, for there was no road, merely a path wide enough for a horse or two men to walk abreast.

Roads meant wagons and soldiers, soldiers who had sharp things and yelled and threw their sticks or chased after barking dogs. They sparkled in their uniforms and with their weapons, like the river, like the rocks, sometimes, but soldiers were not-nice in the experience of the creature who made his home here in the meadow.

The narrow trail made traffic scarce, and the groups small. The bridge, being wood, made a loud TRIP-TROP, TRIP-TROP sound when horses crossed, and a quieter tromp-tromp, tromp-tramp when a man's boots rapped against the slats.

This very sound made the creature look up from where he lay upon the rocks, stretched out and trying to reach something which sparkled prettily on the bottom of the river. He glanced up, then back down at the sparklie, and then the creature was on his feet, scaling the cliff wall as easily as if there were a staircase carved there. He reached the top and waited patiently at the end of the bridge, squatted down and waiting.

He might not be Troll, but this was his bridge.

A few miles away, nestled along the banks of the great, glacier-fed river-lake, was a small town. They were almost a city, with the commerce brought to them by the ships that sailed and rowed up and down the river. Ridden far enough, those ships would take a passenger all the way to the ocean, or the the capitol of the Kingdom of Heere, Cidelys. Such a place was a wonder and a mystery to most of the inhabitants of Zhosrdthan.

They were a town of about four hundred citizens, mostly human, though most could also claim a water elemental somewhere in their ancestry. They were a small, hardy, and hard-working people with a love for and bond to their river as deep as the tie they felt to one another. They tolerated strangers, but they did not welcome them, except in the season of the salmon-run, when the population of their town more than doubled with the ships and fishermen following in the fish's wake. Bears, too, came out of the flat lands for a few last days of feasting before heading to their winter slumber. Hawks and eagles and all the large birds of prey, great cats and wolves, and all manner of fantastical creatures came to the riverside to catch their fill as the giant fish swam upriver.

One of the town's denizens was Squint, an alchemist with a penchant for blowing things up. Trained by the very best alchemists in the kingdom and serving wizards and sorcerers, mages and shamans, herb-wives and mid-wives, Squint left the boring city of Cidelys and its rigid rules. He wanted a place to be himself, to work on what he wanted to work on, and a place where, if he blew off the roof to his studio, he wouldn't kill anyone.

He found such a place in Zhosrdthan. He became the town's mage and healer all rolled up in one. An old, stone tower, built for the last magick-user and abandoned since her death, made the perfect new home. The tower sat on a rise above the river, allowing him to see all around, and, when he blew off the roof, there was no one near-by to be hurt. The inhabitants plagued him day and night for love-potions and good-luck charms, but Squint lacked neither food nor such small comforts as he had enjoyed in the big city. In fact, his chemicals and herbs and potions sold far better to the traders who came by regularly than they ever had in the city.

In all, he was quite happy with his choice.

Winter came early to the mountains, and snow would quickly follow the annual salmon-run, though the river would only freeze in the coldest weeks, and the snows begin weeks or months after the first snowfall gave the peaks a fresh layer of white. Squint wanted to make one last trip into the mountains before winter.

The majority of the ingredients for Squint's potions could be found growing in a meadow at the base of the peaks. Why they all grew there, he didn't know, but he was more than willing to take advantage of nature's quirks. With fresh ingredients, he could build up a surplus of the remedies for the colds and coughs that came with winter. Healers would come up with the ships during the salmon run, but Squint could always sell his extra potions at exorbitant rates to those who ran out. Plus, he needed to be sure he had enough to last his town through the winter.

Hanging a sign on his door and making sure everything was battened down securely, he trekked the two miles into town. The inn doubled as the tavern, meeting hall, and livery. He could get a drink while he waited for his horse to be brought around.

"You be careful, now, hear?" said the innkeeper, following Squint out the door. "Hear there's be a troll in the mountains."

"A troll?"

The lad holding the placid gelding's reins grimaced and hunched his shoulders, reaching out with his arms. "Aye, Master," he said through a grimace. "A great, hulking troll. It'll rip off yer arms an' --"

"Swes!" the boy's father reprimanded, but the gaze he leveled at Squint was no less concerned. "Wait a day, Master Squint. A'll have one o' me boys go with ye. Shouldn' be alone ou' there."

Squint took the reins and mounted. "Don't worry!" he said cheerfully. "I'll be fine. Be back in a fortnight!" Three days up and back, give or take, and a week to collect all the herbs he could stuff into the horse's saddlebags. There was nothing for a troll in those hills. It was just a rumor.

"Bye!" He waved and dug in his heels.

Socks, the gelding, jumped and tossed his head a few times before settling into a steady pace. They followed the road beside the river, and then took the footpath that, had they been heading to the towns high up in the mountains, would have them arriving weeks sooner than the longer, wagon-road. The King of Heere had a garrison stationed in the mountains, to watch over this section of the kingdom. The mountain folk were a reclusive lot, but they served as willing eyes and ears, crossing the mountain crags as surely as birds or goats, in all types of weather. They made the river folk seem downright friendly.

The likelihood of meeting one or more was slim and Squint quickly settled down into the steady patterns of travel. As the way sloped more and more steeply, he often dismounted to walk, easing Socks' burden, and gaining them distance that much faster. Each time he stopped to give them a rest, he looked back over the distance traveled and each time his heart swelled in his chest.

The river still rushed nearby; they left its banks but rarely. He could follow the water's progress with his eyes, see the widened curve of the river, where the lake and the town were. The air grew colder and clearer with every foot of ascent, the birds louder, the land more hushed. He wasn't a woodlands man, but Squint enjoyed the brief moments of solitude, with nothing but dirt and pine needles to fill his nostrils, solid dirt beneath his feet, branches whipping by when he passed, and the sense of being alone in the world. How nice would it all be to have someone to share it with!

From time to time as he walked or rode, Squint picked out bunches of late summer blooms, mushrooms, seeds, or other such things. He made mental notes to stop and harvest some on the way back. He never completely stripped an area of its plants, for to do so would mean none the following year. He was always very careful to leave enough to survive the winter snows and spring rains. If he lost the plants here, he would have to search wider areas for more, with no guarantee he'd find what he needed. If he had any talent for growing things, he might plant a garden, but he was loathe to spend the time away from his workshop.

He saw nothing and no living thing larger than a deer or two, some rabbits, and the paw print of a lynx by the time he arrived in the meadow. The hour was late afternoon, and Squint looked forward to setting up camp and settling for a time. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start his gathering. There were no clouds, no hint of foul weather at hand, and he relaxed a little. He'd be back down the mountain in plenty of time to watch the start of the salmon-run.

The bridge was narrow, so Squint dismounted to lead his horse across.

Trip-trop, trip-trop, went the hooves on the wood planking. Trip-tromm. Squint looked back at the jerk on his arm. Socks had his hooves planted, little more than half-way across, and refused to move further. Squint tugged and pulled and swore, but the stubborn animal would not move. He tossed his head, rolled his eyes back, and whinnied fearfully.

"Look!" he snapped, yanking on the bridle. "There's nothing there!"

But there was. Between times he'd looked, a small, hunched figure had emerged to sit at the other end of the bridge. It was one of the oddest things Squint had ever seen; and he'd lived in Cidelys. Squint had seen odd things.

He squinted at the creature, first wanting to call it an ape, for it was too small to be a troll, but the creature had hair, and not fur. The knees looked as knobby as any that Squint had seen, and it held out its hand palm-up, like a beggar. If this were the capitol, he'd know just what to do, but here, in the middle of nowhere, he wasn't sure. One thing was clear, however. This ... thing -- is this the troll? -- was what had spooked his horse.

"This Yeti's road," it spoke in a gravelly voice. "Pay toll. Sparklies. I wants."

Definitely not a troll, then. From what Squint could recall of his schooling, trolls could not speak beyond a few grunts, and were scarcely more intelligent than dogs. This creature could be a man but for the shape of its feet. It was puzzling, but the intent was clear. This was highway robbery.

He had a few choices. He could give the foul creature something, but that was no guarantee of safe passage, and he couldn't be sure the ... the thing -- might as well call it a troll -- wouldn't simply hold him up again on the way back.

He could also detour and attempt to find another crossing, though that would lengthen his trip considerably, especially as he was pretty sure that this bridge was placed here precisely because it was the best crossing.

He could try bluffing, or he could muscle his way through.

As neither soldier nor sorcerer, Squint elected to try and bluff his way across. "I don't have any 'sparklies,' troll."

The troll glared and thrust out his palm. "Sparklies. Now!"

Socks whuffled, tugging on the reins as he tried to retreat. Squint held on grimly.

"I have none," he said firmly.

"You lie! See sparklies. Wants!" He stamped out onto the wood planks, causing the bridge to sway.

Squint's horse nearly jerked the reins from his hands, throwing more of its weight onto his haunches as he fought to take a step back. The bridge swayed even more and foam flecked the sides of Socks' mouth in his panic.

"Stay back!" Squint shouted over his shoulder at the troll. He hung on with both hands to Socks' bridle.

"Sparklies!" The troll stomped harder.

The horse whinnied and, in all its intelligence, tried to rear, kicking out at Squint and causing the bridge to rock further. The alchemist got all too good of a look at the long fall to the river below.

"Stupid ... flea-bitten nag!" he muttered. "Fine. Fine!" he cried as horse and troll conspired to knock him off the bridge. "Sparklies, fine, you win! Just stop!"

The troll grinned a wide, crooked smile and backed off the bridge. He squatted there in a position identical to his original crouch, one hand tucked between bent knees and chest, the other stretched out, waiting.

With the troll's frightening presence gone, Socks decided that, if Squint wasn't to let him back up, that he would push his way forward. He knocked his rider flat and bounded the rest of the way across the bridge, bucking and shedding his packs and saddle as soon as he reached solid ground.

Swearing as he picked himself up, Squint followed, but the troll would not let him past.

"Sparklies," he said, moving to sit squarely in the way. His limbs were slimmer than Squint's but the ropey muscles were a clear threat.

The alchemist frowned, gesturing to his horse. "They're there. Just let me by and I'll get them."

"No. No sparklies, no cross." He held out his hand. "Sparklies."

Rolling his eyes, Squint gave himself a quick once-over, and smiled a little as he felt the usual pouch on his belt. Withdrawing a pinch of powder, he tossed the concoction at the troll. The powder ignited when exposed to the light, popping like a thousand crackers right before the startled creature's face.

Any normal man would have covered his eyes, just as Squint had, and retreated, but the troll squealed, clapped his hands together, and hopped up and down on his toes.

"Again!" he cried. "Again! Again! Sparklies!"

The gleeful, child-like exuberance was impossible to refuse. Smiling, Squint tossed two more handfuls for the troll to chase, watching as he flapped his hands through the scattering clouds of dust.

"Sparklies?" he asked, when the last bits had dissipated. His huge eyes peered out at Squint from beneath his disheveled mop of hair.

"No. No more." He winced and looked away from the pitiful thing. "Maybe later." To his great surprise and consternation, the troll shrieked happily and lunged forward to hug Squint around the knees before scampering off into the grass.

Making a face for the pungent smell of unshaven, unwashed body, dead fish, and other unidentifiable, foul odors, Squint shambled after his damned horse to gather his things and make camp.

What was often a long, boring ordeal turned into something quite pleasant and enjoyable. The troll kept Squint company the day long, popping up at irregular intervals to ask if 'Now later?' or 'Sparklies now?' Once he got over his startlement, Squint learned to watch for the rustling of the grass and predict the troll's route.

One afternoon after several long, grueling hours scraping lichen off the cliffs, Squint looked down upon the meadow to see the troll chasing gophers. The fuzzy, brown rodents would peek out of their mounds and chitter. The troll would then pounce, with both legs and arms, and dig at the mounds, but he never caught anything, often racing around like crazy and making deep, grunting sounds somewhere between barking and laughing. When one of the critters actually came too close, the troll would hop away, screeching madly. Squint couldn't help but laugh at the crazy antics.

That night, after throwing more flash powder for the troll, Squint felt eyes on him, watching. He glanced around, and saw the troll's eyes, gleaming in the reflected light of the campfire. He beckoned, but the troll vanished into the dark.

In the morning, what Squint thought to be the remains of two fish, bludgeoned to death on the rocks, waited for him by the fire. He grimaced and pinched the tails betwixt finger and thumb to toss them in the area set aside as refuse, for the smaller predators and scavengers to enjoy. There was no way he could eat them. The mashed bodies turned his stomach, and the bite marks on the belly of one made him shudder.

Instead, after frying up some quick flapjacks, he took string and a sturdy, light branch to the river, carefully climbing down. By the time he'd finished breakfast, he had three decent-sized trout dangling from their gills, and a rapt observer.

The troll followed him back to his camp, watching with his wide, unblinking eyes as Squint cleaned and prepped the fish with seasonings and herbs. He wrapped the fish in wide, flat leaves, and buried the lot under the hot coals of the fire.

"There," he said happily, dusting off his hands. "Dinner."

"Fish?" asked the troll, edging closer to poke at the coals, only to hiss and thrust the burnt fingers into his mouth.

"Later," said Squint. "Eat later."

"Sparklies?" asked the troll, instantly forgetting all about the fish as he bounded to Squint's side. "Sparklies!" He whooped in delight as Squint indulged him, laughing to see the troll running about.

He was a little surprised when the troll followed him and attempted to help, gathering flowers and weeds of all kinds to thrust at Squint. Each time he asked for more 'sparklies.' To avoid the whole area becoming torn up, Squint showed the troll the precise flower he wanted. He was beginning to wonder just how intelligent the creature was when the troll reappeared after only the second correction, with a whole armload of the flowers, roots and all.

There was more than enough to satisfy Squint, and he praised the troll effusively, rewarding him with more of the flash powder. When he still seemed eager to help, Squint sent him climbing the cliffs after moss and lichen. He stared at the creature in awe.

The troll clung to the rocks like a spider, and always he bounced from heel to toe to heel to toe happily when he returned to show off his bounty.

With late afternoon, Squint had as much as he could carry. He petted the grinning troll on the head and returned to camp. The troll caught the scent of broiled trout first and raced ahead. Squint had to chase after and shoo him from the fire pit.

"Bad! Bad troll!" he scolded.

The troll bared its teeth, scowling as he hunched to one side, but resentment was soon forgotten. He pounced on the leafy packed tossed his way. "Fish!"

Squint winced and looked away, hearing the troll bite through leaf, scales, bones and all. He unwrapped his own fish on a flat piece of wood that served as a plate, scraping the flaky, peppered meat from the bones and skills with his fork. For some reason, fish brought to him and prepared could never taste as good as fish he caught and cooked himself. He made brilliant potions and charms, could dazzle with sleight of hand and pretend to magic, but Squint had never much cared for cooking. There was just something ... otherworldly about being up in this meadow, alone.

His eyes slid sideways as the troll crept closer and snatched up the third fish. No, not alone. Not entirely.

"Squint," he said, pointing to himself. "Squint."

The troll stared back at him blankly, bits of fish and leaf hanging out of his mouth.

Lifting his plate, Squint tilted the package to point within. "Fish." Then he pointed to himself. "Squint. Fish. Squint."

"Squint-fish!" The troll beamed.

He scratched his head and the troll mimicked him, giggling as if at a joke.

"Squint-fish! Squint-fish!"

He sighed and gave up.

In a bound, the troll abandoned the remains of his dinner, and leaped upon Squint, hands pawing at him. Thinking attack first, the alchemist strove to protect himself, hitting back and pushing and shoving, but the troll's intention was not harm.

"Sparklies! Sparklies!" he exclaimed. He plucked the special pouch from Squint's belt and emptied the pouch into the air. The dust ignited in clumps, the popping sound louder, the lights brighter in the hot afternoon air.

Squint fell back and covered his face and head. There was dust everywhere! The wind scattered the powder and the troll chased after, cackling and giggling. Squint prayed. The grasses were dry, the afternoon hot. A bad turn, the slightest bit of bad luck, and they would find themselves in the middle of a forest fire.

He looked up as the crackling died off, getting up on his knees to refasten his belt and brush the dust from his hair and clothes. He saw the troll by the fire, shaking the empty pouch, exceedingly puzzled. "No sparklies."

"Bad troll!" he snapped at the creature. "Bad! Bad! Bad!" He snatched back the pouch. "Give me that! No more sparklies. Ever. Again!"

Faced with the threat, the troll first cowered, dropping the pouch. As Squint remained standing, shouting and towering over him, the troll's surprise faded and he hissed. The low growl and bared teeth was all the warning Squint received before the troll lashed out, knocking the alchemist to the ground and bounding away.

Squint cursed and picked himself up gingerly, gasping from having his breath knocked out. Still angry, he tidied things up, but had to toss the fish as too contaminated to eat. He settled by the fire with his mending and some of his dried travel cakes instead.

He didn't see the troll again the rest of his time in the meadow, though he often heard the grasses rustling, or saw birds fly up overhead from movement he couldn't see. The troll's absence made the meadow and his work seem quieter and more empty than it ever had before. There was no laughing delight at butterflies or chasing after gophers or squirrels, or giggling as he clung upside-down from the rocks overhead. He lingered, but the troll did not reappear.

Finally, Squint packed his things and prepared to leave. Rain threatened on the other side of the mountains and he wanted to get home.

Climbing down the cliff to wash his pot and cup and to fill his water bags, Squint thought he heard something, but when he turned around, there was nothing. He frowned, staring up at the cliff. There was no sound, but something he'd taken for moss twitched, and he realized that he was staring at the tuft at the end of the troll's tail.

He frowned. There was no way Squint could climb up there. Reaching down, he picked up a handful of stones and lobbed them, one at a time, towards where he saw the tail, and what might be the shadowed entrance to a cave. With the first rock, the tail vanished. He was down to his last one when the troll cautiously stuck his head out of the cave and looked down.

Squint held up a shiny rock he'd found the other day and washed off in the river. Large deposits of fool's gold clung to the reflective, smooth, black surface, catching the light.

"Sparklie?" he offered. He had no more flash powder. He'd have to wait until he was home to make more.

When the troll made no effort to descend, Squint sighed sadly and set the rock down on an outcropping before making his way back to his gear. Socks did not want to be saddled and outfitted with all his burdens, but Squint got underway before the sun was too high. On the other side of the bridge he stopped to look back.

As he had the day they'd met, the troll sat between the supports of the bridge. Squint waved, then set his foot in the saddle, and mounted. With one last look for the peaceful meadow and lowering clouds, he turned his horse's head to the South.

"Squint-fish!"

He looked back. The troll was half-way across the bridge.

"Squint-fish!"

Socks kicked in annoyance, but Squint stopped and dismounted. "Troll!" he called. "C'mon, Troll! Come here!"

The troll clutched the guide-ropes and took another, hesitant step. His voice rose. "Squint-fish!"

"C'mon, Troll!" he called. He stood, and the troll's voice rose in pitch again, crying out. Squint took a step forward. "Here, Troll! Come here!"

One hand came off the ropes to grope the air. "Squint-fish!"

Squint started moving, walking so fast he was all but running back to the bridge. He walked towards the troll cautiously, heart thumping to see big, crocodile tears plunking down the dirty face.

As soon as he was within reach, the troll released the ropes to wrap arms and legs around Squint's legs, sobbing into his knees. "No go! No, no!"

Kneeling carefully before the creature, Squint tilted his face up, brushing the thick strands of hair back. He'd never been so close and his hands trembled when the troll nuzzled the palms.

"I don't live here," he said. "I have to go home."

"Home," said the troll uncertainly, rolling the word around in his mouth and looking up at him again.

"Yes, home." He waved back towards the meadow. "Your home." He pointed South, off the mountain towards the snaking river in the distance. "My home."

"Home." Sharp teeth came out to nibble on the troll's bottom lip. If he didn't smell so bad and wasn't covered in so much gunk, he might actually be cute.

"Yes, home." He stood, and the troll latched onto his leg again, staring upwards.

"No go! Home!" He slapped his palm on the ground.

Squint shook his head. "I'm sorry, Troll, but I have to go." He patted the sobbing creature on the top of the head. "Would you like to come? You can come, if you want."

Prying off the long fingers, watchful of the claws, Squint took a few steps.

"Noooo!" wailed the troll.

"You can come," Squint repeated, patting his thigh unconsciously, like for a dog. "Come on. But I have to go."

The troll continued to sit in the middle of the bridge, looking after as Squint forced himself to walk away. He couldn't survive in the wilderness for long. This was the troll's home, but it would never be his home.

"I'm sorry," he sighed.

He looked back when he reached his horse, but the troll still sat there, his weeping hidden in the light, easy chirping of birds and the sigh of the wind in the trees. Overhead, some early migratory birds winged their way South. With a heavy heart, Squint urged Socks down the trail.

The horse moved with his usual speed, but the ground seemed to fall away beneath Socks' hooves. Squint pressed the heel of a hand to his forehead. His hand still smelled faintly of dead fish and Squint sighed a little even as he wrinkled his nose with distaste.

Loud crashing from behind them startled Socks, whose head came up almost fast enough to whack Squint in the face. He skittered sideways, sides huffing, tail lashing, and afforded his rider a view of the back trail.

From out of the underbrush erupted the troll, to throw himself into Squint's arms.

"Squint-fish! Go, I go!"

They almost went off the horse's back, for Socks didn't care to be attacked from flying things that smelled like something to be feared, but Squint steadied both troll and horse.

With a smile almost as wide as the troll's, he pointed Socks' head back down the trail and held onto the horrid, dirty mess in his arms. He didn't know how he was going to explain this to the villagers, but he had three days until he got there, and, meanwhile, he wasn't alone anymore. The troll might only understand one word of three of what he was saying, but ...

"Squint-fish," sighed the troll, rubbing his face against Squint's chest.

He should have been disgusted, but a silly smile curled up his lips instead. Cupping the back of the troll's head, Squint sighed as he rested his cheek against the top of that mass of slimy hair. Perhaps, he didn't need to tell the townsfolk right away. And what did it matter, anyway? The troll was his, and they were going home. Together.