[Primrose Bolger]

‘Can you believe it!’

Broga shrugged away his fascination with the long stringy morsel of rabbit that hung from Arrald’s lower lip. As the Troll spoke, his lips flapped up and down against each other, sending the dangling bit of dinner dancing against Arrald’s jowl. It was fascinating . . . quite mesmerizing . . . Grimm reached out and gave his brother a light smack on the arm. He could tell his attention had narrowed, as his lower jaw hung slack, a thin line of drool evident at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes looked a bit more vacant than usual.

‘Ow!’ cried the injured sibling, rubbing his arm. With a shake of his head, then, Broga caught the last of Arrald’s little monolog. Moving close to Grimm, he whispered in his brother’s ear. ‘He’s wantin’ a answer, ain’t he? Do we believe it or don’t we?’

‘Leave him to me. Just keep your wits about you, will you.’ Grimm’s eyes had narrowed at the mention of gold. He wanted some of those glittery coins. Rubbing the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together in anticipation of their cold smoothness, he gave Arrald a comradely smile and said what a fine outing it sounded. And would they wanting a little extra help on this venture?

Arrald drew back, his meager brow beetled. Grimm could almost see him counting the mutton in half a flock. ‘One good sized ewe’s good enough for us . . . not big eaters, really,’ he went on in the best assuring tone he could muster. We were thinking we could take care of the farmer and his wife and get . . . bash ‘em good. That’s what we like doing. We’ll bring out the gold to you . . . you can give it to the Orcs if you like. What say?’ He gave Arrald a ghastly wink. ‘Leaves your hands free for grabbing more sheep, it does.’