Grandma Tull's Stories                                           

     by Janet S Fields                      





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Troll King:

But it was neither a troll, nor a tree that emerged from the black waters that night. It was neither and yet both. Green and brown it slid out of the water; its hard brown body glistening as the water drops flowed from its hard skin, hard like the bark of a tree and yet with the rubbery resilience of a plant. It was shaped like a troll but was longer, lower to the ground, finding it could move quickest on all fours. Red troll eyes glowed in the gaunt, green face, and when he opened his mouth, long, sharp teeth glinted in the moonlight while a fat, white root-like tongue000 rolled out. When it turned its head, the red eyes caught the light; what was inside would turn the bones of any man or creature watching to mush, the spine to pulp. It was mad, this thing that was no longer troll, no longer tree but something else: something anger and hate had molded and the taste of blood had given purpose. It moved with a speed far beyond that of troll, its four-legged glide covering ground with silent stealth. It slithered when need be and climbed with no effort, using a sticky sap to hold itself firm to the surfaces it scaled. Sliding out of the black water, it turned its head, scenting the night air before slipping off into the dark.

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