TGIF

Here is another offering from the book I'm working on. As always I'd love feedback from anyone so inclined.



Soft crackling of the surrounding underbrush first broke Wimple's deep, dreamless sleep. Moonlight filtered through the low overhanging clouds to shed a luminous glow upon the strangest scene the little man had ever witnessed.

He knew what he saw could only be a dream, but his eyes told him otherwise. This surreal spectacle could not be a product of his imagination. All his life he’d secretly believed the rock-like trolls of the fantasy world were real, live beings.

Until now, he had no proof. Three of the lumbering creatures stood less than two feet from his shelter. They were oblivious to the elf sized man hidden among the bushes and thickets of the forest.
Wimple lamented that Jessup was not there to share this marvelous vision.

He inched forward to hear the words the rock-men spoke. The slow resonant voices sounded more like the rumbling of a distant earthquake than human speech.

He ached to rush head long into the middle of the group. His only desire being to meet these spectacular rock-men face to face. If Jessup was along, he might give in to his impulse.

Stunned he espied the dangling corpse clutched tightly in the monstrous fist of the nearest troll. The blood ran cold in his veins as he realized what they held. It was the crumpled body of a spotted, mangy wolf, crushed to a lifeless pulp within the troll's grasp.

Wimple shrank back becoming an integral part with the forest. He had waited his entire life for just such a moment, but instinct screamed that this was neither the time, nor the place. He would not share the wolf’s fate.

A fierce argument erupted between the hulking rock-men. Wimple could understand nary a word, but he didn’t need to. Massive granite arms thrust skyward in the direction of the peek-a-boo moon, emphasized their anger. Grunts and inhuman clicking reinforced what he witnessed.

They ceremoniously offered the lifeless corpse to the crescent orb drifting overhead. Whether in sacrifice or a proud display of the troll's strength, Wimple could not tell. At last, the lifeless hulk was thrown to the forest floor and stomped into shapeless ooze. The soft squishing of flesh punctuated by the sharp retort of splintering bones nearly caused the little man to retch.

He could not begin to understand why the trolls displayed such loathing. Wimple was ever more grateful he had not intruded upon their ritual. Ever more frightened, he strove to melt into the very ground beneath him.
Legend did not portray this race of men as the appalling, murderous beings he now watched. Many a child's storybook cast them as the benevolent hero. Why? He wondered. Are the wolves and trolls at war?

His thoughts returned to the behemoths as one of them began a slow, ponderous dance around the clearing. The remaining creatures watched in disgust, but eventually gave in and joined their companion.

Faster and faster they whirled, destroying everything in their path. Wimple rubbed his eyes as he realized there were now five of them instead of three. He had not noticed when the new rock-men had joined the group. Now, they formed a counter balance spoke to the already gyrating monsters.

Oblivious to the outside world, the trolls continued to dance to music unheard by anyone else. Every so often, one, two or as many as five or six rock-men came to join the revelry. The whole of Canth reeled under the combined weight of these whirling, stampeding behemoths.

Early morning and the first dubious rays of the sun pierced the scudding layer of clouds. The rock-men scattered in every possible direction, some barely avoiding the hidden Wimple as he lay exhausted in his hidden lair. Cries of anguish assaulted his ears as the infirm sun struck them into a frozen world of their own.

Even if Wimple had wanted to sleep, the deafening, heart throbbing thud of the trolls' feet had made it impossible. The very foundations of Canth shook to the rollicking rhythm of their riotous behavior. Never would he be able to sleep in the forest again without remembering this special night.

He crawled on hands and knees, emerging into the opening the rock-men had all but demolished. The sad vision of trolls frozen where the sun had caught them tugged at his heart strings. These were the same creatures who had whirled and cavorted joyously throughout the night.

An unexpected tear coursed down his smooth cheek as he approached the closest statue to lay a gentle hand upon its surface.

He didn't really expect to feel anything, so the faint dissipating body heat of the creature caught him off guard. Barely did a cry of alarm escape his lips, when he clapped the same hand over his mouth.
It did not hurt, but the undeniable life within had touched him. Alien as the slight brush had been, it was human.

There was deep intelligence in that brief encounter, and anger, too. Anger so deep that it scared Wimple out of his wits. Hate welled into him as he touched the strange being again. This time he did not pull away. "If only I could understand," he whispered.

"I wish Jessup were here, he’d know what to do. I wish I could help you. I simply don't understand."

Dejected, he turned to retrieve his pack. With a last soulful glance toward the scattered trolls, Wimple resumed his journey.