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Story of a Troll ---------------- Magnet-minded sparrows gathered atop a gnawed wooden troll with sad, warty eyes protruding beneath thorny brows. Its unshorn head, crowned with reaching branches, wiggled in the wind along with all its feathered jewels. Dumpily, the troll sat, dreading spring. Spring meant goats. Like all trolls, this one hated goats. Even without a bridge to quarrel over or a stream to upend it in, somehow the goats always found it in the bushes. Found it and CHEWED. If indignation could have manifested on its lumpy features at that very moment it would probably have scared all of its chirping companions away. As it were, they found their bowels constricting. White streaks started decorating the troll's head, giving it a disheveled yet oddly distinguished appearance. The troll sighed. Snow began to fall. The birds consulted each other with worried tweets and exploded upward in a flurry of down, jolting the troll's head back and forth. Fleetingly, out of the corner of one eye, it saw a white shape with small nubbly horns and, possibly, a beard. A goat? At this time of year? The troll tried to take a second glance but its borrowed momentum had dissipated and it couldn't see. Its other senses heightened. There seemed to be an unnatural warmth pacing round its backside, accompanied by rustling sounds echoing from every invisible direction. Its branches bristled silently. The sounds grew louder, and the troll panicked. Every withered cell of its body began to quiver with the strain of holding its meager wits together. Pressure soared upward, winched by fear. There was a very quiet, almost indistinguishable "piff." The white fox's ears pricked as it looked up. For some strange reason, the ugly stump ahead of it had sprouted a small pink flower. Unimpressed, it went back to digging for moles. The snow continued to fall. |
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