VI FORCED MYSELF TO breath deep and relax. Just thinking of trolls again was a little much. I sat back against the wall behind that narrow bunk, and pulled one knee up to hold onto. My jeans and hands smelled of milk and cow, my boots smelled of chicken yard. But both milk and eggs were now cooling. I'd need to work them along, but for now, I could just take some time to digest all this morning's events.
Taking stock - I was sitting in the old bunkhouse, with a fairy tale creature who said he was a male wood nymph. It seemed that together, we had vanquished a troll by turning him into a cloud and having said cloud be whisked away into the atmosphere.
The nymph, who calls himself "Trimble" claims to have a broken leg, but it will heal in a few more days. Days. And I'd seen him change from
