Once upon a time there was a tiny baby billy goat named Trevor who lived in a valley meadow with his mother, his father, and the rest of their herd. Trevor was much smaller than the other kids, and did not seem to grow even half so quickly. His parents were much concerned that he would sicken and die in the coming winter, so they took him to the wisest old nanny goat in the herd for a consultation.
“He’s been cursed,” she said in her no-nonsense tone. “He’s been cursed, and the only cure is for him to eat frostspun leaf. And he must go alone to find it, or it won’t do him any good.” Now Trevor’s parents were distraught to hear this, for frostspun grew only at the highest altitudes- and the only way to get to the highest altitudes was by crossing through troll territory.
It may be when I say “troll” you think of a small plastic doll with shiny naked buttocks and entirely too much rainbow hair sprouting from its inanely-smiling head. You must put this thought from your mind, because that is not what I mean when I say troll. Not in this instance. When I say troll, what I mean is something as big as a truck, with impenetrable skin the color of granite, and a mouthful of teeth both sharp for tearing and flat for crushing. I mean something with a wretched temperament, an insatiable appetite, and a special appreciation for goat meat. In fact, trolls were the reason that Trevor’s herd lived in the valley, rather than up on the slopes like good mountain goats should. They had lived there in the past, but once the trolls moved in to the neighborhood, the goats found it behooved them to just stick to the lowlands. It wasn’t the best grazing land, but at least they didn’t have to live in constant fear of being devoured.
So now Trevor’s parents were in a quandary. If they sent Trevor alone to get his cure, the trolls would probably eat him. But if they did not send him, he would probably die when winter came, anyway. Can you imagine what a horrible thing this was for them to decide? Which death would be better- becoming a quick snack, or a lingering illness? They did not know, and they stayed up late into the night, arguing about it. But Trevor, who figured it wasn’t their decision to make anyway, decided he’d just make it for himself and crept off into the night.
Trevor knew that his parents would come looking for him, and moreover he figured they’d figure he’d take the easiest, least-dangerous (although still not safe) path to the mountaintop. As such, he decided he’d go the more dangerous route- the route that would take him directly over a bridge that was a known troll-shelter. They’ll never think to look for me that way, he told himself, and anyway I’m so tiny and light the troll probably won’t even notice my crossing.
So that is the way Trevor went, with frequent breaks to catch his breath. He reached the bridge just after the sun rose, and stood staring at it a long time. He didn’t see any movement, and he didn’t hear any movement, and he didn’t smell- well, okay he did smell troll, but he’d been smelling troll for the past few miles, and there was nothing he could do about it. So Trevor took a deep breath, thought weightless thoughts, and began to cross the bridge.
Tippity-tippity-tip, went his tiny hooves on the stone. Trevor thought they sounded like little pebbles shifting. Tippity-tippity-tip. Perfectly ordinary noises! But then-
“Who’s that tippity-tipping over my bridge? I’m going to eat him up!” The voice of the troll was like the roar of an avalanche, and we cannot blame Trevor if his tiny legs began to shake in fear. In fact he was so frightened he couldn’t speak a word, so he just kept moving across the bridge, tippity-tippity-tip.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” yelled the troll. “No? Pesky wind, always knocking pebbles onto my bridge…” its yell deteriorated into a mutter, and Trevor felt certain the troll was settling itself back down to sleep. The moment his hooves hit the soft grass on the other side, Trevor took off at a much faster run than he’d ever accomplished before. Adrenaline will do that for a person, even if that person is a sickly little kid.
The rest of his journey was without incident, and he did eventually find a little patch of frostspun. As soon as Trevor began to nibble on the leaves he felt stronger, and by the time he finished the plant he suddenly knew what it was to feel normal. He spent the next few hours frolicking on the mountain-side, as a young goat is meant to, before settling down for a long, long sleep. It had been a long day, and even with his new energy he was exhausted.
The next morning he set back off down the mountain, until once more he was facing the bridge. He sucked in a deep breath and began to cross it with the same light footsteps as before.
Tippity-tippity-tap. Tippity-tippity-tap.
“Alright now, that does it! I know it’s not pebbles this time!” and with that the troll surged up from beneath its bridge to glare at whatever was disturbing its peace. It stopped short when it saw Trevor.
“Goat?” it said in confusion. “When did goats get so small? Oh well, it hardly matters- I’m going to eat you up regardless!”
“Oh!” squeaked Trevor, “You shouldn’t do that!”
“Whyever not? It’s been a long time since I’ve had goat. They don’t seem to come around much, anymore.”
“Oh, um, well, you see-“ Trevor’s mind was working overtime, “If you eat me, there won’t be any more, ever!”
“What? That’s ridiculous. How dumb do you think I am?”
“No, no, it’s true! See, my people miss the mountain- they think they’re growing too fat and delicious in the meadow, and they want to come back to their ancestral home, but they’re afraid the trolls are still around. So they sent me, the littlest kid, to go check. They said it won’t be much of a loss if I don’t come back, and if I don’t then they’ll know that the trolls are still around and there’s no point in returning to the mountain.”
“Hmm,” said the troll, sitting back on its haunches. “That does make sense. You’re so puny- who would miss you?” (Trolls are not known for their parenting instincts.) “Hah! I’ve had an excellent idea! Goat-baby, I will not eat you on one condition!”
“Anything, mister troll!”
“I will let you live, but you can’t tell anyone you saw me. Can you promise that?”
“Oh yes sir, I surely can!”
“Okay then. Get going. You wouldn’t even have been a full mouthful, anyway.” So saying the troll lumbered back down beneath its bridge, oblivious to the wake of drool it was leaving.
Trevor dearly wanted to faint with relief, but he made himself carry on back toward home.
***
It may surprise you to discover that Trevor kept his promise- he did not tell anyone about his interaction with the troll, or really much of anything about his journey. They were so relieved to have him back that they did not press, and his parents were utterly delighted when they realized he was starting to grow again. Soon he looked like any other healthy young adult goat, and no one feared for his untimely demise.
But then one day he grew listless again, so his parents took him back to the wise old nanny goat.
“The curse was not broken,” she told them, “only delayed a little. He must go again to eat the frostspun leaf. His destiny depends upon it.”
Trevor’s parents did not bother arguing with one another this time, for they knew that Trevor would make up his own mind. Sure enough, Trevor left at dawn, taking the same path as before. This time he reached the stone bridge when the sun was at its highest.
I’m still not that big, he thought. Perhaps the troll won’t notice my footfalls. And he began to cross.
Trippity-trippity-trap went his hooves. Trevor thought they sounded a bit like rocks rolling around. Trippity-trippity-trap.
“Who’s that trippity-trapping over my bridge? I’m going to eat him up!” But Trevor, who had realized the troll had a lazy streak, said nothing and continued on. Trippity-trippity-trap.
“I know you’re up there! You’d better… you’d better… aw, darn rockslide,” muttered the troll.
Soon Trevor’s hooves were again on soft grass, and he moved swiftly up the mountainside. This time he had to climb further to find any frostspun, but once again it immediately restored him. He ate twice as much as he had before, and this time when he finished he did not frisk about, but instead assessed his surroundings with seriousness.
It was a good place for goats. He could see why his people had lived there, and it was a shame they were exiled by the stupid, greedy trolls. With this thought in mind Trevor settled down to sleep, and had strange and wonderful dreams he couldn’t quite remember.
The next day he came once again to the stone bridge, and began to make his way across.
Trippity-trippity-trap.
“Ah-hah!” yelled the troll as it emerged from beneath its bridge. “Another tasty goat! I’m going to eat you up!” Then it paused and added, “You’re not as big as I’d been lead to believe. That little one said you were all fat and delicious now.”
Trevor thought fast.
“Oh, the other goats are all much fatter than me. I’m a runt where I come from- only the size of our mountain-dwelling ancestors. When the littlest kid came back and said there were no trolls between us and the mountainside anymore, our elders figured that maybe he was just too small to interest a troll. So they sent me, since I’m more what trolls are used to, and anyway if I don’t come back who’s going to miss a runt?”
“Runt, huh?” The troll eyed him speculatively. “Hmmm. So you’re saying that if you don’t come back, the other goats will know it’s not safe to come around?”
“Yep.”
“And they’re all fatter than you?”
“Much fatter.”
“Hmmm.” The troll and the goat stared at one another for a while, until the troll finally sighed.
“Alright, goat, I’m going to let you go. But only on the condition you don’t tell anyone about me.”
“Fair enough, sir.”
“In fact, I want you to tell those other goats how beautiful the mountainside is, and that they’d all better hurry up and move out there before the weather turns.” The troll nodded at his own cleverness. “Yes, tell them that. Emphasize the hurry part.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
And so Trevor returned to his people’s valley, and all was well. In fact it was better than well, for over the winter Trevor hit a growth spurt, until he became the largest, heaviest, strongest goat the herd had ever heard of, let alone seen. His muscles were hard and his hair was glossy, and two deadly-sharp horns curled down from his brow. Truly he was the most magnificent specimen of goat known to the world. And every night, he dreamed of the joy and peace to be found on the mountainside.
One day Trevor woke from his dream and went to go see the wise old nanny-goat. She smiled at his approach.
“Ah, little troll-tricker. How may I help you?”
“How did you know about that?”
“Kid, if you don’t think I know things I shouldn’t then why are you coming to me with such a serious look on your face?”
“I need advice about my destiny.”
“No you don’t,” she snapped, and butted him in the flank with her head. “You just need to go live it.”
***
And so Trevor found himself standing at the edge of the stone bridge yet again. The sun was low in the sky, and he knew it would be evening soon. Evening, followed by night, when trolls were at their most alert and dangerous. Trevor had no illusions about what his hooves would sound like this time, but he was no longer afraid.
Trampity-trampity-TROMP!
“Who’s that trampity-tromping over my bridge? I’m going to eat them up!”
“Somehow I doubt that, troll!”
There was silence from under the bridge, and then a furious squawk.
“What did you say?!” and the troll appeared.
Now, a troll at its ease is bad enough (Remember the size? The teeth?) but a troll in a rage is something else entirely. Any sensible creature would have turned and fled- but Trevor was not necessarily sensible, and he had come on a specific mission.
“Well well well,” said the troll when he saw Trevor. “Finally a goat of a decent size. Took you long enough. But where are your brethren? I’d hoped to make a right feast of you all.”
“Troll, you’re not going to be able to handle the one you’ve got!” and Trevor sprang at him with his curling horns.
In later re-tellings of the story Trevor’s descendents would confuse a few details. Perhaps the most important thing that was forgotten was that the troll did not go down easily: Trevor had to fight for his life. And in that fight the troll did manage to do some damage. In fact, at one point he managed to get a hand around Trevor’s throat, crushing it beyond repair. But Trevor slashed at him with his heavy hooves, and the troll was forced to let go. And while the troll was distracted by that pain, Trevor slashed again, this time with his horns, and blinded the troll. From that point forward the fight was more balanced, and in the end Trevor was triumphant. As he stood trembling over the troll’s crushed head, he heard a branch snap. He looked up and to his horror saw that he had an audience- at least twenty other trolls had been drawn from their lairs by the sound of the struggle.
“Come on then,” Trevor yelled- or tried to yell. His poor throat had been so mangled that his voice came out a hoarse rasp. He compensated by glaring as fiercely as he could; he knew he was about to die, but he did not intend to go out easily.
But the trolls did not move. They were whispering amongst themselves, and every once in a while Trevor thought he caught a phrase or two.
“…he’s alone… must be another runt…”
“…ven if he isn’t a runt… whole herd of goats even that size…”
“…just one… whole herd could do…”
“…whole herd…”
“…herd!”
Finally an even larger than average troll stepped forward.
“Goat, we have no quarrel with you or your people. We’ve decided to move on. Better eatings elsewhere, we’re sure. Just, uh… just move back on up the mountain and stay there. Definitely, definitely stay there. You and all your people. In one place. Where we don’t have to worry about accidently running into any more of your runts.”
And the trolls left.
Trevor, exhausted, hurt, and in a mild form of shock, began to limp his way up the mountainside to where the frostspun grew. He stayed there many days, recovering, until he felt well enough to make his way back to the valley.
When he reached the stone bridge he didn’t even pause.
Trampity-trampity-TROMP went his hooves over the bones of his fallen enemy. Not a single trollish soul was left to complain of the noise.
***
When Trevor found his parents they were being visited by the wise old nanny goat (who had a knack for being present at strange events). His parents were shocked and overjoyed to see him- he’d been gone for so long they’d all but given up hope. The elder, on the other hand, just looked smug.
“Mother, father, wise nanny” Trevor said in his now-roughened tones, “I’ve come to lead you and the herd back home.” And he told them all of his adventures. Before long others in the herd noticed his presence, and they ran up to greet him, demanding to know all that had happened. But the old nanny goat, seeing how much it pained Trevor to speak, cut them off.
“Come now, his voice is too grim and gruff for such a happy tale! We shall tell it for him.”
And they did.
