Chapter 4
Yoso
~
I rolled out of my night furs and squinted at the eastern sky. The glare didn’t burn my eyes as much as it had the day before, which had been less than the day before that, but the purple glow forced me to look away after a moment. Eyes born to the black of the mines took more than a few days to acclimate.
Regret not bein’ able to share the view with my mate, or one of my brood. But they’re home, enjoyin’ their dark, damp, granite ceilin’.
I dragged my old troll self into a reasonable vertical with more than a groan and a grunt each, leaned over to stretch, and to shake my dreadlocks out thoroughly. Good practice first thin’, to ensure no critters decided through the night that a mat of hair is a good place to set up housekeepin’. A horrid faux pas, to share tea with a neighbor, chortle at a joke, and have a roach fall into yar cup. What was one to do? Wait till it drowned and drink it down, or skewer it and fish it out? A situation certainly to intrude upon a conversation.
I rolled up one of my furs and knelt on it, chewin’ a handful of my mate’s dried mushrooms. They left much to the imagination. I longed to visit an ogre hamlet in the west. Them ogres can cook. Meat. Ah. No rat or snake, but pork, lamb, and goat, spitted over coals for half a day. I could almost smell the wispy smoke, hear the spatter of fat drippin’ into the fire.
Certain clan members would gag, listenin’ to my thoughts. How’d our kind grow to limit our menu so?
I grimaced, reached into my bag and pulled out more shrooms. How any troll worked a full day with a pick or sledge with little more than that kind of fare boggled my mind. Livin’ above ground, where pigs, sheep and goat could be raised held advantages impossible to ignore.
I caught sight of a fallen log thirty feet away I hadn’t noticed when I camped the previous evenin’, leapt up and ran to it ready for a smorgasbord. Flippin’ it over I was rewarded with a pair of giant centipedes, a scorpion, dozens of grubs, and a handful of slugs. This is the way to start a day.
~
I worked my way around a huge outcroppin’ that jutted into the gully I followed out of the spiny hilltops and spied the black surface of the lake. I hadn’t visited since the previous spring. Sniffin’ the air, I let out a long breath, before pushin’ on with an excitement I hadn’t expected.
Smoke from a fire lingered along the treetops a half-mile to my left. Did the old dwarf still live there? The curmudgeon threatened to take his axe to me the last time I wandered near the lake. I smiled at the memory. A brave bugger, for a creature that stood knee-high to a pine root.
I don’t care for any kind of conflict. Isn’t my nature. Much easier to make a friend once, I figger, than keep an enemy for life. The rewards of a friend a cornucopia, an enemy a sad failure. I turned north, and followed the water’s edge as it curved west.
The chill, highland breeze felt good to a soul not used to the warmth of the sun. Place is beyond beautiful. Serene. Origin of grand dreams. A sin not to push aside the dreadlocks and take it in. Disregard the glare, troll. I scrunched up my face against it, flipped my hair over my shoulders, took in the ripples across the water, the pipers frolickin’ near the waterline. I tilted my head and listened to the chatter of jays and blackbirds. Just heaven.
I stopped abruptly, starin’ at the property marker. A momentary sense of dread struck me. I’d wandered upon someone’s stake? There could be a human, or some other lesser race with enough malice to kill a troll bumblin’ upon their property.
I whirled around and studied the ground I’d crossed. Found no duplicate chunk of Earth’s rock, a mate to this marker. I raised my fist and peered between my curled palm to block out the glare. Emerald-green grass folded to the breathy gusts. Eon-smoothed gravel and the blackness of the lake lay before me as far as I could see. Most likely I was on the outside of the claimed property. I took a short breath and blew it out hard.
So. Someone had settled on the north shore. After all this time. I felt a smile pinch my cheeks, chest fill. Time folk returned to the Range. I scanned the scooped valley. A quarter mile ahead I saw the telltale sign of a fence bein’ erected, a cabin of ancient pine logs nearer the tree line.
“A sin to skin trees that could never properly protect flesh from wind and cold. Good Earth is the only proper home.”
I studied the land through my pursed paw. There was another property marker near the fence.
“Two stakes?”
I stood a moment to decide what to do. Turned right and made my way through the tall grass, toward the forest.
“Best to reconnoiter where ownership is claimed, first off.”
~
I camped fifty yards from the nearest property line. Arranged a dozen of the small boulders that littered the lake’s edge to form a block from the night breeze, collected wood enough for several days, and settled in. Would anyone from the two homesteads stroll down to present a friendly face?
Right away the shape of a giant sort neared the fence, an ogre likely, by his size. He remained too far away for me to be sure, though. The creature stood quietly for a long bit. I imagined he studied me.
Not a friendly face, that I could make out.
Not fair the gods didn’t grace us trolls with better vision. Perhaps why we took to the mines in the first place. Or maybe we lost our proper vision once there.
~
The next day, a little person scampered out of the forest and visited the ogre’s place. I made out the two standin’ in the far field, no doubt glarin’ my way, but they chose not to come near, to introduce themselves. Best not to tread on their property to push a meetin’.
“Best to let their fears ease. At least they’re not greetin’ me with pitchforks and clubs. Or worse.”
The days passed as I celebrated the freedom of sky overhead. My fishin’ failed me, so I finally trekked into the forest to gather what I could. So’s not to get my neighbors panicky, I traveled east, and then south in a leisurely manner.
I found marvelous berry patches, one I had to tussle a bear over. We parted company with equally shrill growls, neither too worse for wear. I wore a gash on my wrist that would take a bit to heal. The bear bounded away with boxed ears and a bruise or two, from bein’ hurled into the creek by the nape and buttocks.
I grinned, watchin’ the adolescent bear lumber away. Had to admit I enjoyed the wrestle. Was invigoratin’.
The bear walked past a log without showin’ interest.
“Ya blind thin’. Blinder than a troll. Didn’t think that was possible.” I waited. “Don’t want ya interested in one more of my finds.”
With the bear out of sight, I hurried toward the log.
Kwokk.
An axe flyin’ inches before my face embedded in the trunk of a tree to my left. The implement resonated, an itch in my ear. As soon as my heart dropped back into my chest where it belonged, I turned, searchin’ for the grumpy dwarf who threatened me the year before.
The dwarf stood in the shadows, nearly as wide as he is tall, gray beard nearly to his waist, the end of his red sock cap danglin’ over a shoulder, beady little black eyes, bulbous nose.
“That was downright rude!” I said. “Shouldn’t let loose yar weapon without ensurin’ yar deed, dwarf. I might feel entitled to ring yar scrawny little neck now.”
The little person didn’t speak, but he shifted his posture, enough I caught the eight-inch sheen of another axe blade ease out from its hidin’ place behind the dwarf’s leg.
“For one so free with his attacks, yar not much for words.” I relaxed a tad, though I figgered the confrontation wasn’t over. “So what’ll it be, dwarf?”
The dwarf stood motionless.
“Brass enough to hurl an axe at a peaceful troll, but not bright enough to speak, is that it?”
The little person grimaced. “This place isn’t for yar kind. Return to yar mines if you wish to keep the peace.”
“Writin’ yar own law, dwarf? Not aware of any that sets this place as yar special domain. Best I recollect, the land of dwarves is a fair hike north of these parts.”
“And yars is south,” the dwarf blurted. “Ya should return there.”
“What gives ya the right to settle in the Range, dwarf, while forbiddin’ my kind?” I grinned at the thin’’s expression, the dwarf’s lips protrudin’, eyes narrowin’.
“Ya think ya get to choose yar neighbors?” I continued. “I see ya allowed an ogre to build a cabin on the north shore. An elf is livin’ in the forest nearby. I’ll be stakin’ my own claim.”
My last remark startled me as much as it obviously annoyed the dwarf. The words flowed from my mouth as though majically conjured. Standin’ near Black Lake, that figgered very possible.
Why couldn’t I make this my brood’s home? Why should I only enjoy it here once a year when I go a wanderin’?
I glanced over my right shoulder, toward the lake, though I couldn’t see it through the trees. Seein’ the blue sky every day appealed to me, though I doubted my mate would be so inclined. Would she even follow me?
I turned to the dwarf, who shifted his weight, hefted his axe as though readyin’ it, scowled in the direction I had looked.
He thinks I’m expectin’ troll friends.
“Ya better have lots of axes, my friend,” I said. “Or, learn how to live with trolls as neighbors as ya have ogres and elves. More will be comin’. The two centuries have passed. The Covenant intended we come together one day when we’d gotten used to peace.”
The dwarf glared with eyes that could wither a delinquent younglin’. But I was disinterested in a silent standoff.
“Try as ya wish. Ya won’t be findin’ a loophole in my words.” I reached out and yanked the thrown axe. The tree groaned in pain as the steel eased out of its grain. The dwarf lifted his remainin’ axe in preparation to defend himself. But he needn’t. I turned the axe around and gripped it by its head, walked to the dwarf, axe handle extended.
“Either accept me as a good neighbor ought, or stay out of my way,” I said.
The dwarf took the axe, but didn’t change his expression. I turned away and walked to the log, returnin’ to my original business, though my skin tingled. Could I have misjudged the character of the dwarf? The axe blade could well plunge into my skull yet. With each step the fear eased, pushed out by a new thought.
Livin’ above ground. Blue sky. Wind. Fresh air caressin’ the face. The scent of forest, lake, and water beasties. Milk. Meals harvested from the earth. Voices of neighbors not echoed off granite.
It might be time to drop by a certain ogre’s home. That’s the neighborly thin’ to do.
Before rollin’ over the log, I glanced back where the dwarf had stood, but found nothin’ but shadows.
“So ya choose to stay out of my way, eh, dwarf? So be it. Better than one of us dyin’ for no reason.”
I rolled the log, picked the grubs out of the detritus, droppin’ them one by one into my other palm. I fought an urge to rush to my camp. Need to find a nearby outcroppin’ for the stone I’d need, to stamp my markers. I imagined the simple design I’d chisel to make them unique, so my ownership stood out.
~
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