Folksburywoods

“I hate rats,” said Thuman.

The troll traveled to the southern gate to stop the Ratlings from sneaking into the forest.

“It will be your mission to stop Ratling scouts,” the elders had instructed Thuman.

“I can handle a hundred Wolvers, but rats, why rats? I hate their pointy noses and slimy furless tails,” remarked Thuman, walking to his lookout.

By midday, the toll had settled into his patrol. He would repel anything they threw at him, barring a direct attack.

“I wonder what dinner will be tonight. I hope it’s not ground nuts again. My stomach can’t handle the gas,” Thuman muttered.

The guard froze, not a breath as he listened. “I heard something scratching,” Thuman thought.

He silently checked the bridge’s sides to see that nothing came up from below. “Damn, I hate this feeling. I can sense something but can’t see it,” the troll whispered.

Moving to the forest side of the bride, Thuman squatted low and waited.

Two figures crawled over the side, failing to see the guard crouched next to the wall. “We can make cover in the forest,” said the Ratling.

Focusing on the forest, the Ratling neglected to see the troll. Thuman stood and brought his staff down upon the beast with a loud crack.

“Troll scum, you kill Madox. Now you die,” cried the creature.

Thuman moved the staff, catching the underling’s jaw and sending him tumbling.

“Now I will send you to meet your compatriot,” Thuman said, bringing the staff down upon the Ratling’s skull.

The troll pulled a cloth from his pack and wiped the blood from his staff. Then, he heaved the Ratling’s bodies over the bridge’s edge.

“I hate rats, hate everything about them. At least that’s two who will not bother me anymore,” Thuman said with a wry smile.

Thuman checked for hiding Ratlings and then had tea. The troll wondered if they would serve fish for dinner. “I like fish and potatoes. They fill you up,” said the troll as he returned to his post.