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“It’s the pelt,” he complains. “You’re supposed to skin them first, but they scream the entire time.”
“Tedious,” I attempt to commiserate. It’s not Roger’s fault he’s a troll who has to eat the prey that come tippy-tapping over his bridge, just like it’s not my fault I’m a human who comes from a species who happens to be fantastically good at exploring and then colonizing. It’s just who we are. We don’t mean anything by it.
“It is,” he says, tucking me back under his arm. “I don’t enjoy being a monster, you know, but I was never made to be anything else. The more I try to be nice, the more damage I do.”
I wonder if he is trying to be nice now, and how much damage he will do when he is done being nice.
The forest around Gruff’s bridge does prove to be a slight obstacle to him. He is as tall as many of the trees, and now I see how the wider paths have been forged through. They’re not goat paths. They’re troll trails. He snaps trees off at the base, sometimes uprooting them, sometimes simply crushing them as he passes by. I am dragged through several trees, partially protected by his arm and body, but also partially not. By the time we break through into Gruff’s clearing and into his bridge, my nose and face are bloodied, and my arms are covered in scratches and bruises from being held in front of my head to protect me from the worst of the onslaught of foliage.
“You can just leave me here,” I say as Roger carefully steps over one of Gruff’s fences, taking good care not to squish any goats, I am pleased to note.
Roger ignores me, insisting instead on carrying me all the way up to Gruff’s rustic front door. If Billy is around, he has taken shelter. A good idea, given all that is going on. The goats do not respond to Roger at all besides coming over in the way they usually do when they suspect someone might have food for them.
“GRUFF!”
Roger booms Gruff’s name, as if Gruff has somehow missed his arrival. He has not. He is standing out the front of his house, his arms folded over his broad chest, a very unimpressed, and dare I even say, annoyed and stern look on his face. It’s not Roger he appears to be angry at, of course. No, the murderous troll is no issue at all. It’s me who is in trouble. The human who never does what she is told.
“Hi, Roger. How are you?” Gruff greets the troll with a casual comment.
I’m shocked. I expected Gruff to be struck with fear, but he greets this fifteen-foot-tall monstrosity like an old friend.
“I think I have something of yours,” Roger says. “She smelled like you.”
“Yes. She’s mine. Thank you for bringing her back.”
"She was in the bog,” Roger the troll reveals. “About to be attacked by a buck. I ate him, but you should be more careful. It’s not like when the goats wander. They’ll try to do unspeakable things to her if they get hold of her.”
“Oh, I know. And so does she.”
“Would it be too much trouble for you to put me down, please?” I make the request very politely.
“Where do you want her?” Roger asks Gruff. “Do you have a secure pen?”
“Unfortunately, she’s free range,” Gruff says. “You can put her down.”
My feet finally meet the ground again, and I am no longer in Roger’s grip.
“Go inside,” Gruff says, barely looking at me. “Clean yourself up.”
He’s mad. Fuck. I guess I knew he would be mad if I, from his perspective, ran away, but I did tell him I was driven to do just that.
“Stay for dinner,” I hear Gruff saying to Roger. The troll is as tall as the house, so I have no idea how that is supposed to work, but I have bigger problems. I am filthy, covered in troll scent, and smeared with blood, mud, and bog.
I go upstairs, strip my filthy clothes off, and run the bath. I am eager to wash the events of the day off myself. I feel as though I will come to regret much of what I have done today. The way Gruff looked at me was more intense than previous expressions. He wasn’t just angry, or disappointed. He was pissed.
I hear the stairs creaking, and a moment later, Gruff is with me. I am filthy and naked. That does not stop his palm from meeting my ass, covering both cheeks in a spread-fingered slap designed to catch as much of my bare skin as possible.
I knew it was coming, and I was braced for it, but the yelp that escapes me still belies just how much it stings. I’m lucky he gives me just the one smack before launching into a lecture.
“Do you want to die? Is that it? Is it so impossibly terrible here with me that you insist on throwing yourself into increasingly stupid dangerous situations in which you barely survive?”
“No! I love it here with you!”
“Then why,” he says, quite miserably. “Do you keep leaving?”
“I…” I draw a breath and try to explain. I’ve tried to explain this before, and I don’t know if I will ever manage to put it into words in a way he will be able to understand. “I’m an explorer, Gruff. I was sent here to spend years learning the planet. That’s still my mission.”
“A mission you're carrying out for hostile men who sent you here to be hurt and killed.”
