A Troll's Hunger (Dark Taste 1)

Chapter IV: Big Bones

I sway back and forth on his shoulder like a sack of rice, feeling dizzy and nauseated, with blood rushing to my head. We travel a while through the forest and walk uphill toward the peak of the mountain where the Snowfire Tribe is said to dwell.

It has also gotten a bit chilly from the rough winds the higher we go, but his body is warm, so I am not completely frozen. The fact that it is still summer also helps, as the temperatures have yet to plummet to dangerous lows.

I continue to sway back and forth on his shoulder and struggle to keep my mouth shut, not uttering a word of protest. I am sure if I do or say anything to annoy him, he will drop me over the cliff of the narrow ridge he walks on. I can just envision it—the Troll grinning evilly while saying I am too heavy to hold and threatening to drop me.

The vision makes me shudder, so I bite my tongue with every step taken closer to the village. I yearn to be back home to my grandpa, safe from the horrors of the night.

Why did I ever try to get the wheel? I'm so stupid.

I know we have arrived at his village because of all the huts I see. They are scattered along the edge of the mountain but hidden when seen from a distance. It is different than what I expected. I'm not sure what I was imagining...but not this. It is a little like my village, just a little, from some aspects.

I see many curious eyes peering at me, Troll women, men, and even some children.

Their women are equally frightful as them, just a tad smaller in height and lacking the defined muscles on their bones; nonetheless, compared to the human women, they're giants. Their children are also larger than our own, but cute, dare I say, with tusks of varying sizes, as if they have yet to grow into them.

I have yet to see an elder in this village.

As we go around in a spiral and get to the top of the mountain, most of the village can be seen with their huts and fires lit outside them and a central throne made of bones.

The seat is currently empty, but I believe this is where their chieftain would sit, overlooking his people and the lands as the moon hangs high in the skies, with the twenty-four hours of night we have now.

It is then I see some of the 'cute' children sword-fighting around a fire with what resembles human bones, and I can only shiver more, realizing the truth. These children will just become monsters who will eat us humans when they finish growing up. In the end, there really is no such thing as 'cute' when it comes to any Night Dweller child.

The Troll, who is carrying me, then stops in front of a hut made of straw and wood where the entrance is covered by deerskin. He pushes the flap back, and we move inside the dark dwelling. My mouth goes dry, and my heart pounds in fright all the more.

I am then shifted from his shoulder and thrown onto a bed—a bed which he probably has built since the carving along the wooden frame seems unique. Such a bed, I'm sure, is not available for sale from a merchant like my grandfather.

The carving is rather an exceptional design with great attention paid to minute details. I'm sure my grandfather would be interested in such craftsmanship, even though this Troll is a Night Dweller. My grandpa is an odd man like that, often called strange by villagers, but he loves to talk shop with everyone, so to speak.

The bedding consists of sheep's wool, furs from rabbits, wolves, and who knows what else he has killed and skinned. Probably the ones that dwell in these parts and have been killed by him in the night.

His red eyes glow in the dark, one more than the other, and they narrow upon my figure as I sit on the bed. I push myself up until my back hits the wall.