[Thinlómien]

How can one end up in trolls' pot? Thin-Gloomy wondered. His life had brought him many challenges and problems before, but this was certainly unheard of.

He could hear the voices of two trolls, but couldn't catch the words. He glanced around. He was in a big pot. He couldn't climb out from it; the bottom was round and the edges too high. Nevertheless, he tried.

“Hey, Tim, the maggot tries to climb the walls of it’s prison! It tries to run away!”
“It wouldn’t be a big loss”, said the another troll voice, “He’s very skinny and bony after all.”
“He’s better than the squirrels you found last time.”
“Oh, shut up, Greg, or I’ll crush your bones and make powder of them.”

A skinny troll appeared. “Hello, little one. You’re going to be a good meal, once we cook you”, it told him and laughed maliciously. “Begging your pardon, sir, but are you really going to cook me?” Thin-Gloomy asked courteously, though his heart was pounding faster than ever. The troll cast a suspicious look at him. “Of course we are, stupid hamster”, the troll replied, scratching his bald head. “I’m afraid my meat will become leathery when cooked”, Thin-Gloomy told the troll. The troll scratched his head again. “You’re right. I’ve never actually liked a cooked dwarf. Maybe we should fry you.”

“Fry me, sir? Never, I beg you. I have only your best interests in mind and I can assure you that burnt hair”, Thin-Gloomy ran his fingers through his beard, “tastes awfully bad.”
“I see... Maybe we’ll smoke you then.”

“Smoke me? If you smoked me, there would be that much smoke that any bounty hunter – and bounty hunters kill trolls for their treasures, I trust you realise it – within miles knows you’re here. Not a good idea either.”
“Oh, blimey, you’re right again. Maybe we’ll the just...”

“He’s playing with you, Greg, don’t you see it?” a deeper voice broke out. A fat troll appeared in Thin-Gloomy’s field of vision. The bigger troll reeked even worse than his companion. “Tell me, mosquito, how would you like to be cooked?” the troll asked Thin-Gloomy in a malicious tone.

Thin-Gloomy was thinking desperately. How? What would give me a chance to escape? He had no idea. “I could have you as a snack”, the bigger troll suggested and picked the trembling dwarf from the pot. “Hey, he was my prey!” the thin troll protested. “Raw dwarf meat can cause sicknesses!” Thin-Gloomy cried. The trolls laughed, both of them. “Make a stew out of me!” Thin-Gloomy decided.

“A stew?” asked the bigger troll, as if puzzled.
“Let’s do it; it probably tastes the best”, the smaller troll commented, remembering the mutton stew his mother had used to make.
“Okay then Greg. Go and fetch some vegetables then, I’ll find some water”, the fat troll agreed and dropped the dwarf casually back to the pot.

When both the trolls had gone, Thin-Gloomy glanced at the sky. There was still about an hour – or more – ‘til dawn. He had won some time, but not enough.

After a while that was shorter than Thin-Gloomy had hoped it to be the trolls came back. “Make a fire, Greg. I’ll chop the vegetables.”
Thin-Gloomy was horrified. When the fire would be ready and the pot brought to fire, it would only be a question of minutes when would he die in the boiling water.
“What about the herbs?” Thin-Gloomy dared to ask.
“Herbs?” the trolls asked in unison.
“A proper stew has herbs in it” Thin-Gloomy told them.
“Aye, that’s true, Tim, my marmee always put rosemary in hers.”
“Your marmee was a fool.”
“Yours was cow!”
“You father was smaller than a rat!”
“Yours was a worse whiner than a mosquito.”
“Your brother was as whimpery as a rabbit!”
“Yeah, he was a sucker, but less than your brother, who was eaten by Elves.”
“No, he wasn’t! He ate the Elves!”

Unfortunately for him, just at that moment Thin-Gloomy made a small, involuntarily noise. “Back to cooking”, the bigger troll decided, “Or we'll be as dead as your brother when the sun comes up. I want to eat before it.”
“What herbs will we have – and my bro’s not dead”, the smaller troll said.
“Go find some... parsley. And I’ll look for celery.”

Again, Thin-Gloomy heard steps going away from the pot he was in. He tried to climb out again. He did not know how long he tried, but he stopped when he heard: “The lil’ one’s trying to flee again. Hohoho... Here’s some celery and parsley is to come.” Then, the troll whistled. From the other noises it made, Thin-Gloomy concluded that he was making a fire. “What about dandelion leaves? You can’t eat a stew without dandelion leaves!” he cried desperately. “Don’t try to fool me this time, little dwarf”, the troll replied, “Only Elves and cows eat dandelion leaves.” Even in such a situation Thin-Gloomy was alarmed that he agreed with a troll.

“Oh, there comes the parsley!”
Thin-Gloomy was even more depressed, before the other voice called: “Can’t you make a fire, Tim?”
“I can, better than you, old donkey! Leave me be and just chop the celery I brought.”
Cursing by himself, the smaller troll went to chop the celery.

It really took a while for the bigger troll to make the fire, but it was still too soon for Thin-Gloomy. The big troll bowed over the pot and poured water in there. Thin-Gloomy was about to drown again. Desperately, he gripped a giant celery that floated in the pot along with other newly added vegetables. Then, the world began to move. The experience was probably closest to seasickness one can have without a sea. The big troll wasn’t too careful handling the pot and bringing it to fire.

It ends now, Thin-Gloomy thought, It’s the final countdown... The trolls were arguing about something, but Thin-Gloomy did not care anymore. He could feel the water getting warmer. First, it was like a warm bath, but quickly – too quickly – it begun to be uncomfortable. Not the death I wished for myself, the dwarf thought, closing his eyes.

The pot rocked violently and hot water was everywhere. “You idiot! You fooled...” the big troll’s words stopped as cut. The hot pot rocked once more before tilting over. Thin-Gloomy heard a hissing sound when the fire was extuinguished. He rolled out from the pot, still grabbing the celery. He hit the still-hot logs that had just been on fire. Screaming, he sprung up and ran away from the burned place.

He could not believe his eyes. The sun was there, low in the sky, spreading it’s familiar light. Two huge stone figures stood nearby. The smaller one had a knife and parsley leaves in his hands, the bigger one had freezed to a kicking position with an angry look on his face.

Thin-Gloomy dropped to his knees. “Oh, Mahal, the greatest of all”, he muttered, bowed down his head and wept.

---

Later he recovered his possessions from a nearby bush and spread the remains of the aloe vera on his burnt back.