[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The smell of roasting coney pulled Arrald and Dim toward the low hill. They went as stealthily as they could, thinking to surprise whomever had set up camp, but their great feet seemed to find every dry branch and loose stone. After each noise broke the silence of the wilderness they would freeze as though by stilling themselves they could silence the air, and make elaborate gestures to one another to be quiet. “Well it’s not me as kicked that ruddy great log into the stream,” Dim protested in a loud whisper. “And it’s not me as thought that going up that great shale bank was a good idea.”

Arrald frowned at his brother so mightily that his beady eyes almost disappeared entirely beneath the sagging folds of his forehead. “I don’t recall your saying nought about the plan at the time,” he rumbled dangerously. “In fact, as I recall it, we both thought it was a good idea to head in a straight line with that smell, so as not to lose it.”

Dim cocked his head to one side and searched the untidy cellar of his memory. “Aye, aye, I do remember that…” he conceded. “But you’re still the one as started the avalance!” he cried out in victory, and his sudden outburst set echoes rattling amongst the hills.

“SSSSHHHHHH!” Arrald practically roared at him, slamming one sausage-finger to his lips while clamping his other hand over Dim’s mouth. Dim’s eyes went wide with shock and mimicked his brother’s action with his own finger in front of his already covered mouth. Arrald slowly removed his hand, and Dim said quietly once more, “Right. Quiet.”

They resumed their trek toward the smell, picking their way through the rough landscape of the hills by the light of a very pallid moon. They were disappointed when they saw Broga and Grimm gathering around the fire, for it meant that they would have to beg a share of the food rather than snatch it for themselves. Arrald sighed – it had been days since his last really decent meal. Fortunately, that might soon change…

Broga and Grimm were none too pleased to see them, if the manner of their reception was anything to go by. Openly trying to hide one long skewer of food behind his back, Grimm burst out, “We ain’t got no food here! Only a bit of rabbit as we’re just finished!” Broga stuffed a half a rabbit and two taters in his mouth at once and made a great show of chewing and swallowing.

Arrald’s eyes narrowed. “Now look here Grimm-me-lad, I’m not stupid nor blind nor have I lost my sense of smell – I know you’re got a stick-full of coney and taters behind your back. You’d best share it round or things are like to get ugly.” Grimm made a great show of defiance at first, to which Arrald and Dim responded with words of their own. Broga swallowed the last of his food and leapt to his brother’s aid. There were a few blows and some terrible curses shattered the night, but soon the trolls were setting about the fire and sharing out the food as equally as they could.

What had finally convinced Broga and Grimm to share had been Arrald’s promise to tell them how they could come by some truly gorgeous fresh meat, without too much trouble. Swallowing the last tater, Arrald leaned in over the fire and explained in a conspiratorial whisper. “You both know as Dim and me have been a-helping some orcs hereabouts in their attacks on the invaders.”

“Of course we know about that, Arrald; we’ve been doing the same and have seen you once or twice in the fights.”

“Have you now?” Arrald said, trying to appear canny. “Be that as it may, and we’ll have to look into that later, the orcs are set to meet with Dim and me later tonight so’s we can plan our next little outing. This one promises to be an absolute feast!” His eyes glittered with a greedy light as he sat up and threw out his chest. “Why those orcs have said that there’s a small farm with dozens of sheep, and we can have half the flock. And all the orcs want in return is the small bag of gold pieces they say the farmer has in his bedroom! Can you believe it?” And his eyes went wide at the idiocy of orcs.