Chapter Text
There was a time when Garden Trolls and River Trolls shared the same forests without picking quarrels with their neighbors.
The former lived among roots, moss, and damp earth, where the vegetation was dense enough to conceal their movements from human eyes. The latter preferred riverbanks, waterfalls, and the streams that wound beneath the trees before vanishing into the rocky depths. Their territories constantly overlapped without ever truly merging, a river might flow through Garden Troll lands, just as a clan’s tunnels might extend beneath those of the River Trolls. In the past, this had never been a problem.
But life soon decided it would be unfair for trolls with such a peaceful way of life to exist in such harmony, while so many others suffered the horrors of war against humans, or the Gumm-Gumms...
It all began with incidents so trivial that, over time, no one could truly remember the first one. Supplies were moved or stolen, belongings damaged, traps left on the paths, and all manner of pranks played, for which each side naturally blamed the other. Grievances piled up. Pranks gave way to reprisals, reprisals to fresh provocations, and each generation inherited the grudges of the last, adding its own to the mix.
The very proximity that had once allowed the two peoples to coexist became the very thing that made their hatred so impossible to ignore. They still shared the same forest, the same paths, and the same natural boundaries, yet they now saw that closeness as nothing more than another reason for mistrust.
Neither people knew that those responsible for many of the offenses fueling this feud belonged to neither group. The Trickster Trolls found it particularly amusing to torment the two tribes in turn, leaving behind just enough clues to point the finger at their neighbors...
It was amidst this animosity that Dagwolven and Narogol committed what their respective families considered an absurdity, and later, a disgrace.
Dagwolven was a Garden Troll, smaller than others of his kind. Narogol belonged to the River Trolls. They ought to have regarded one another with suspicion, avoided each other as much as possible, and returned to their own kind. Instead, their meetings grew more frequent. Curiosity gave way to affection, over time, that affection deepened into a bond that no warning could sever, and eventually, they stopped pretending they could simply go their separate ways.
And so, they united their living stone. From this union came a small troll, one who belonged to both peoples yet, in the eyes of those very peoples, fully to neither. Her parents never saw that contradiction in her, she was their daughter, and that was enough for them. To others, however, her very existence was a reminder of a forbidden mingling, a crossing of lines that two tribes had spent generations striving to keep separate. The traits she inherited from her mother prevented the Garden Trolls from accepting her as one of their own, while the traits inherited from her father provoked the exact same rejection among the River Trolls.
While Dagwolven might still be viewed as a Garden Troll who had made a reprehensible choice, and Narogol as a River Troll who had betrayed her kin, their child did not even have that distinction. To both tribes, she remained an abomination with no place among them.
Dagwolven and Narogol therefore left their people behind. What might have been merely a temporary separation became their entire way of life. They lived on the fringes of the territories they had once known, far enough away to escape the daily tensions. Occasionally, they would draw near to other communities or follow travelers for a time, but they truly belonged to none of them. And so, their daughter grew up alongside the only two people for whom her mixed heritage never required an explanation.
Nearly a century passed this way. For a troll, a hundred years was nothing in the span of a long life. Yet, it was more than enough time for a child to grow up understanding what the adults strove to keep hidden from her. She understood why her father never returned to live among his own kind, why her mother did the same, and why the rare encounters with members of their former tribes always left behind a lingering tension.
Her parents held nothing against her. Yet, as she grew older, it became difficult not to notice everything they had left behind.
Their wanderings eventually led them far beyond their native forest, to a vast network of caves where the nomadic colony of Brograk had settled.
Brograk bore no resemblance to the great trollmarkets built around a Heartstone. No massive magical crystal formed its center, no seal barred outsiders from entering. The tunnels belonged to those who occupied them, for as long as they chose to stay. Trolls from different lands would stop there before resuming their journeys, while others settled for a few years or even decades. Merchants would appear with their wares, then vanish with them. Families arrived, left, and sometimes returned. Stalls changed hands, and the caverns constantly echoed with new voices.
For Dagwolven and Narogol, Brograk offered something that had become rare over the past century, a place where they could simply exist, without anyone coming to remind them of their past.
But for how long?
"...no one is asking you to forget what happened. Just to come back with me. The matriarch herself charged me with telling you that your place is still among your own."
Dagwolven did not reply. The messenger had been speaking for quite some time, putting forward the same arguments in slightly different ways, as if repeating them often enough would eventually give them more weight. The troll had listened without interrupting, arms crossed and face set, occasionally letting out a sigh when the speaker pressed the point.
Narogol stood a few paces away. She had chosen not to intervene so far, partly because Dagwolven needed no help from her to answer and partly because she knew exactly what would happen if she got involved. Indeed, the Garden Troll facing them hadn't addressed her even once since his arrival.
That didn't stop him from looking at her, though.
Whenever his attention wandered away from Dagwolven, Narogol would find that same dark stare fixed upon her. It never lasted long, just enough for her to notice it before the messenger shifted his gaze back to the one he had come to fetch.
She was rapidly losing patience.
"You could go back to your own kind, Dag. It’s been long enough. No one wants you to keep living like this for...–"
A crash abruptly cut his sentence short. Several canvas sacks had just toppled onto one another in a cloud of dust, knocking over a few empty baskets that rolled across the stone floor. All three trolls immediately turned their heads.
A small figure stood amidst the clutter. She remained perfectly still for a moment, as if ceasing all movement might be enough to make her invisible. Then, realizing the three older ones were watching her, she darted behind the nearest rock. Part of her head briefly peeked out from her hiding place before vanishing in turn.
The messenger stared at her, his mouth twisting into a barely concealed grimace before he let out a sigh.
Narogol saw it and was upon him almost instantly.
"How many times must we tell you?" she growled, stepping forward enough to force him to retreat. "No matter who you send, none of us is coming back!"
"Your fate matters little to us, River Troll!" He stepped away from her to turn back to Dagwolven. "Dag, the matriarch will forgive you if you return. You’ll just have to undergo the purification ritual—"
"—Do you hear yourself?!" Dagwolven shoved him roughly. "Labeling my family as impure?! Get out!!"
The messenger took several steps back. For a moment, he even had the audacity to look genuinely baffled, as if it were Dagwolven’s reaction that made no sense. Finally, he snorted, cast one last scornful glance at Narogol, and another toward the rock where their daughter had taken refuge.
This time, it was Dagwolven who stepped toward him. The messenger waited no longer, he turned on his heel and ran down the tunnel until the sound of his footsteps faded into the general din of the colony. The Garden Troll stood motionless for a few seconds before letting his shoulders slump with a long sigh. The anger gradually faded from his face as he felt Narogol’s hand rest on his shoulder. He raised his own hand and placed it over hers.
"Your tribe is just as stubborn as mine..."
"It’s not my tribe anymore..." he breathed. He glanced at the tunnel where the messenger had just vanished. "They’ll send someone else back, that’s certain."
Narogol did not answer immediately. She knew the Garden Trolls well enough to realize he was right. Just as she knew that, sooner or later, the River Trolls would likely send someone of their own to explain why she needed to return to her kin.
Her gaze finally drifted toward the rock. "Gwonpalin... Shouldn't you be in bed? Whelps need much more sleep than adults."
Two eyes slowly appeared above the stone. "I’m not a whelp anymore, I’m over a hundred years old!"
"By troll standards, that’s still not very old."
Gwonpalin stepped fully out of her hiding place, letting out an exaggerated sigh. However, she didn't stay annoyed for long, her face lit up almost immediately as she rummaged through the bundle she was carrying and pulled out a small, well-filled notebook.
"Dad, look!" She ran over to them and proudly held the object out to Dagwolven.
"Hmm? What is it?" He opened it.
The first few pages were covered in writing, small sketches, and notes squeezed into every available space. Gwonpalin had depicted various locations in Brograk: certain tunnels, stalls from the small market, passageways she had discovered, and even a few nooks that Dagwolven didn't immediately recognize. Alongside the drawings were jotted observations about the inhabitants, their habits, the times certain merchants arrived and others vanished, what they sold, and sometimes even who came to visit them regularly.
Dagwolven turned the page. "My, that’s quite a lot of information... Some of it is really precise, too."
Narogol leaned over his shoulder to take a look. She scanned a few lines before a chuckle escaped her. An impressive number of notes concerned Oubora, a particularly cantankerous old troll who had settled in Brograk a few months prior. Gwonpalin had even sketched a whole scene showing her with all four arms raised and her mouth wide open, screaming at several gnomes who were scurrying away from her wares. One of them was making off with something that looked very much like a scrap of food, while another was disappearing beneath a stall.
"That must have taken you quite a while." Narogol remarked. "It's incredible that we didn't hear her screaming."
Gwonpalin burst out laughing and retrieved her notebook. "That’s because she didn't see me! I’m pretty good at hiding!"
She proudly placed her hands on her hips.
Her parents remained silent. Their gazes drifted simultaneously to the spot where, just moments before, a stack of canvas bags had stood. Now, they formed a shapeless heap in the middle of the passageway. Dagwolven raised an eyebrow. Narogol did the same.
Gwonpalin’s smile faltered. She glanced at the bags, then at her parents, before blushing. "Well, usually, yes! The bags weren't exactly balanced right..."
She carefully slipped her notebook into the satchel slung over her shoulder. When she looked up, her smile faded. Her parents were no longer looking at the bags. Despite the light tone they had used with her, something had changed. Dagwolven still had her hand resting on Narogol’s, but her shoulders had slumped again. Narogol was staring at the tunnel entrance. Both of them kept glancing in the direction the messenger had taken, as if expecting to see him turn back.
Gwonpalin recognized those looks. "Mom? Dad?"
Dagwolven turned to her immediately. A smile appeared on his face, so quickly that Gwonpalin wondered if it had actually been there a moment before.
"Sweetheart, dawn is breaking soon. Would you go get some sleep? We’ll join you in a few minutes..."
She hesitated. Her gaze shifted from her father to her mother. Narogol, in turn, gave her a small, reassuring smile. Gwonpalin finally nodded. "All right..."
She clutched her satchel tighter against her and headed toward the camp.
Dagwolven watched her go until her small green silhouette vanished around a bend in the tunnel. He waited a few more seconds, then his smile faded.
Narogol closed her eyes. "It’s not going to stop..."
Dagwolven bowed his head. "No."
"We’ll never have any peace." She ran a hand over her face before letting her arm drop heavily to her side. "They know we won't change our minds. How many times has it been now? How often do we have to tell them?"
"As many times as it takes for them to accept that we aren't coming back."
"Then they could keep this up for a long time."
Silence settled between them again. Yet, in the distance, Brograk was still alive with activity. Voices echoed through the tunnels. Something metallic clattered to the ground near the market, followed by a curse and a burst of laughter. With dawn still hours away, some trolls were ending their day while other travelers were just arriving.
Dagwolven leaned back against the tunnel wall. "At least they can't drive us out of here."
"No. But they know where to find us now."
The thought made her husband tense up again. "Maybe we should have kept going."
Narogol shook his head immediately. "And then what? How far do we go? Do we switch caves every time one of theirs, or one of mine, finds out where we are? We’ve already spent enough time doing that."
"I know..."
"She likes this place."
Dagwolven looked up. Narogol was now gazing toward the camp. "You've seen her since we arrived. She spends all her time running around. She talks to the merchants, explores the tunnels, fills that little notebook with everything she finds..." A faint smile touched his lips. "For once, she’s starting to feel at home somewhere, I don't want to take that away from her."
"Neither do I."
"So we stay."
Dagwolven nodded slowly. "We stay."
Narogol moved to stand beside him. For a few seconds, neither spoke.
"I hate it," Dagwolven finally murmured.
"Hate what?"
"That she has to see all this."
Narogol stiffened slightly.
"She’s young, but she isn’t stupid. She sees the way they look at her. She hears what they say." His fingers tightened on his arm. "And now that grushkak comes along, talking about purification right in front of her..."
"They ought to be ashamed... She’s just a child... And even if she were older, these squabbles are senseless..." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder what we could have done differently."
Dagwolven frowned slightly. "Nothing."
"There must have been something—"
"Narogol."
"I don't mean us." She immediately looked up at him. "I have no regrets. Not about you, not about her. Never."
"I know."
"She didn't ask for any of this. She hasn't done a thing wrong, yet she’s the one who has to grow up watching two whole tribes act as if her very birth were an offense."
Dagwolven looked away. "They have no shame in demanding our return if it means leaving Gwonpalin behind..."
Narogol’s lips twisted into a bitter grimace. "They probably hope that by assuming such things, they’ll make us come back, what a bunch of idiots. If need be, we’ll drive them off as many times as it takes!"
They stood there for a moment before slowly making their way back to the camp. Neither of them noticed the slight movement behind the rocks a little further off.
Gwonpalin waited until their footsteps had receded far enough before stepping out of her hiding place. Her satchel still hung at her side, and her fingers gripped the strap with a force she didn't even notice. She stared for a long time at the passage where her parents had just disappeared.
They had no regrets. She had heard them. She knew they loved her. But she had heard the rest, too. Her father could return to the Garden Trolls. Her mother could return to the River Trolls. Both were welcome among their own kind.
Provided they left their family behind.
Gwonpalin lowered her eyes. Then, without making a sound, she took a different tunnel.
A few hours later, quiet reigned inside the tent.
It would have taken far more than an ordinary night to exhaust Dagwolven and Narogol to the point of sleeping like this. Trolls generally needed little sleep, but the last few days had been anything but ordinary. Their arrival in Brograk, getting settled, the mounting tension, and now the visit from a new messenger had finally taken their toll.
Both had collapsed into the nest. Dagwolven was sleeping almost entirely buried beneath the furs, save for one arm that hung limply to the side. Narogol had slumped against him, snoring with her mouth slightly open. Her husband would regularly answer with a deeper rumble, giving their alternating breathing the air of an unintelligible conversation.
Gwonpalin had been watching them for a while. She, on the other hand, was wide awake. She had managed to make it back to their tent before her parents, and despite everything she had heard, fatigue had claimed her before they even returned. By the time they finally came to bed, she was already fast asleep.
A few hours had been enough for her. Now, she was bored. She rolled onto her back, then onto her side, before staring up at the canvas ceiling. She sat up, watched her parents, lay back down, then sat up again.
Dagwolven let out a particularly loud snore.
Gwonpalin stifled a giggle. Her smile vanished, however, when she thought back to the conversation she had overheard a few hours earlier. She gazed at her parents one last time.
Suddenly, a harsh shout rang out in the distance. "Come back here, you vermin! Give me back my basket!"
Gwonpalin started. She recognized the voice instantly, and a smile spread across her lips.
It seems the gnomes enjoy tormenting old Oubora...
She stood up at once, grabbed her satchel, and slung it over her shoulder. Before leaving, she cast one last glance behind her. Narogol and Dagwolven hadn't moved. Another snore rose from the nest.
Gwonpalin gently lifted the flap of cloth serving as the entrance and slipped outside. Brograk was already bustling with activity. The concept of "morning" was relative in tunnels where sunlight never penetrated, yet the approach of day on the surface still marked the start of a rest period for some inhabitants. Others, conversely, used this time to set up their wares before the next wave of travelers passed by.
Gwonpalin walked past several stalls currently being set up. She greeted a few early-rising trolls she had come to recognize since their arrival. One waved back without pausing the arrangement of his carved stones. Another was carrying crates far too large for him and nearly bumped into her.
Then, another shout from Oubora signaled that she was close by. "PUT THAT DOWN!"
Gwonpalin stepped behind a stall and stopped. Several gnomes were darting around the space Oubora had claimed for herself since arriving in Brograk. One of them was carrying a small basket twice his size. He struggled under the weight, yet his enthusiasm seemed entirely undiminished.
Oubora rushed toward him. The gnome let out a squeak and tossed the basket to another. "NO!" The second one managed to grab it, after a fashion, before darting off in the opposite direction. A third gnome stepped into Oubora’s path just long enough to stick out his tongue at her before leaping between her legs.
The old four-armed troll nearly stumbled. The little creatures burst into shrill cackles.
Gwonpalin raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. She had seen them steal food before, everyone had seen gnomes stealing food. They would pilfer whatever they could whenever the chance arose, and it wasn't unusual to see a merchant chasing one through the market.
But a basket?
No matter how hard Oubora tried to retrieve her property, the gnomes would pass it to one another the moment she got close. One would shove it along, another would drag it and a third would snatch it up before darting off in a different direction. It almost looked like a game they had organized.
This went on for several more minutes. Then, just as suddenly as they had started, the gnomes seemed to lose interest. The one currently holding the basket let out a shout. All the others stopped circling Oubora and bolted off in the same direction.
Basket in tow.
Oubora stood stunned for a moment. "What do those filthy creatures want with my baskets?!"
In a fit of rage, she kicked at the stack of remaining baskets. Several toppled over, prompting a curse from her lips.
Gwonpalin gazed at the gap between two rocks where the gnomes had just vanished. Oubora’s question lingered in her mind.
That’s a good point. They can't eat it... Or can they?
She knew gnomes well enough not to rule that possibility out entirely. But if they didn't intend to eat it, why go to such lengths to steal it? And why a basket, rather than the provisions sitting just a few paces away?
Gwonpalin glanced at Oubora, then back at the passageway. Her hand rested instinctively on her satchel.
The gnomes were fast. Much faster, especially when one tried to follow them without being noticed.
Gwonpalin nearly lost sight of them in the very first tunnel. She caught a glimpse of the last one disappearing behind a rock formation and quickened her pace, careful this time not to knock anything over as she went. By the time she reached the spot, the basket had just vanished into a narrow gap between two rock faces.
She stopped. The opening was too small for an adult troll. For her, however...
Gwonpalin turned sideways, sucked in her stomach, and squeezed between the two rocks. Her satchel snagged on the stone. She tugged at it, gave a firm pull, and managed to free it before moving on. A few meters further along, the passage widened.
She heard squeaking sounds and slowed down immediately. Crouching low, she crept forward as silently as possible until she reached the end of the fissure. A faint glow from crystals embedded in the rock allowed her to make out a natural cavern below. She cautiously peered through, and her eyes widened.
There were gnomes everywhere. Not just a few, dozens of them.
Gwonpalin stood open-mouthed at the sight. The cavern was small enough that no troll had ever had a reason to settle there, yet it was immense compared to its inhabitants. Cracks ran along the walls at various heights, and some had been stuffed with scraps of cloth, twigs, bits of string, and a hodgepodge of objects scavenged from elsewhere.
And baskets.
Gwonpalin instantly recognized the one that had just been stolen from Oubora. The gnomes dragged it to a nook where several other baskets of various shapes and sizes were already sitting. Some lay on their sides, while others had been propped against the rock. They were lined with fabric, moss, dried leaves, and scraps of fur.
Gwonpalin blinked. Gnomes were sleeping inside them. She had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
So that’s what it was for.
Oubora was having her baskets stolen so that gnomes could sleep comfortably inside them. Gwonpalin almost wanted to go back and tell her right away.
Almost.
Because she had just noticed the rest. It wasn't just a hiding place. It was a village. A tiny village, cobbled together from whatever its inhabitants could find or steal nearby. A spoon was wedged between two stones. Bits of rope connected various nooks. A small box with a missing lid was clearly being used to store food. Polished shards, buttons, scraps of metal, and a host of objects whose origins Gwonpalin couldn't even guess at were piled against the wall.
She lay almost flat against the stone to get a better look when a glint caught her eye. In a small recess, several gnomes had gathered everything that seemed capable of shining. Fragments of colored glass sat alongside pieces of polished metal, a few stones of little value, and a small bead that faintly reflected the light from the crystals.
Gwonpalin frowned. The items served no apparent purpose. Yet the gnomes regularly walked past their little treasure, and some even stopped to touch it or move an object before moving on.
The young troll slowly rummaged through her satchel and drew out her notebook. She opened it to a blank page and began to draw. First, the hollow itself. She roughly sketched the contours of the wall, the location of the cracks, and the placement of the baskets. Then, she added the tiny inhabitants here and there. One was carrying a piece of fabric nearly twice his size. Two others were squabbling over something she couldn't identify. A fourth one was sleeping, curled into a ball, in one of Oubora’s baskets.
Beside her, Gwonpalin added a few words: "They live in groups."
She watched them further. "They use the trolls' belongings." She hesitated before adding: "They steal a lot and seem to like shiny things."
She smiled and continued watching. The longer she observed, the more details, ones she had never noticed before, caught her eye. Not all the gnomes were doing the same thing. Some stayed in the hollow, seemingly tending to the stores or moving the materials that had been brought in. Others regularly came and went through various crevices. At one point, several of them gathered near a passageway.
Gwonpalin stopped writing.
There were five of them. They squeaked at one another, bustled about for a moment, and then set off together into the tunnel.
She waited. Much later, only four returned at first, they were carrying food. The fifth reappeared a few moments later, dragging a small metal chain behind him.
Gwonpalin tilted his head. The chain clearly served no purpose, yet it gleamed. The gnome dragged it straight to the pile of glittering objects. She immediately looked down at her notebook. "Some go on expeditions to scavenge for food and objects."
After a few seconds, she added: "They really love shiny things."
Then, a different movement caught her eye. The gnomes, who had been scurrying about in every direction, parted ways to let another individual pass. At first glance, he looked just like the others. He had the same small stature, the same gait, and the same expressive face. Yet, the others seemed to react differently to his presence. Some brought him items they had just retrieved. Others stepped aside as he walked by. When he let out a few sharp cries toward a group, the gnomes in question stopped what they were doing almost immediately.
But above all, something set him apart at a glance: his hat. Gwonpalin had seen plenty of those little pointed caps on the gnomes' heads by now. His was green.
She pulled her notebook closer. A few more strokes appeared on the page. "The one with the green hat seems important."
She watched another interaction. The green-hatted gnome let out several short cries. Three others gathered in front of him before darting off into a tunnel.
Gwonpalin thoughtfully nibbled the tip of her writing tool. Then, she crossed out "important." Beside it, she wrote: "Leader?"
She gazed at the word. Her eyes drifted back to the little gnome in the green hat. An enthusiastic smile slowly spread across her face. She had followed a few thieves to find out what they were doing with a basket. Instead, she had discovered an entire miniature civilization hidden in plain sight of the trolls.
Who said curiosity was a bad thing? There are so many things hiding right under our noses!
She cast one last glance toward the hollow. The gnomes continued their activities, unaware that a pair of eyes had been watching them the whole time. The little leader in the green hat had vanished into one of the village's nooks, and a new expedition seemed to be forming near a fissure.
Gwonpalin would gladly have spent several more hours watching them, but her parents would be awake by now.
So, as quietly as she had arrived, she carefully retraced her steps, squeezed between the narrow walls, and found her way back to Brograk’s wider tunnels. The market had grown even more crowded since she had passed through earlier. The few trolls who had started by setting up their stalls were now selling goods to newcomers, while others were clearing out their spots.
Gwonpalin hurried across the camp. She slowed down when she finally spotted their tent. Her parents were standing in front of it, watching her.
Narogol had his hands on his hips. "Gwon, where have you been?"
Gwonpalin stopped short, letting out a nervous little laugh. "U-um... I forgot to leave a note..."
Narogol raised an eyebrow.
Gwonpalin grinned wider. "You'll never guess what I just discovered!"
Dagwolven and Narogol exchanged a glance. Then, the former noticed the notebook peeking out of his daughter's satchel.
"You didn't go too far, I hope?"
"No! Well..."
"Gwonpalin."
"Not very far."
Dagwolven sighed. "You might be small, but one day you could get stuck squeezing into places you shouldn't."
Gwonpalin immediately puffed out her cheeks. "Not small..."
She looked down and muttered, feeling affronted, before something suddenly came to mind. "Oh!" All trace of annoyance vanished. She walked past her parents and rushed into the tent.
Narogol turned to Dagwolven. "Do you know what she discovered?"
"No idea."
The sound of things being moved reached them from inside. Then Gwonpalin reappeared, carrying a basket full of berries, and walked past them.
"Ah-ah-ah! Where are you going with that?"
Gwonpalin froze and, very slowly, turned halfway toward her father. Then she deployed the most formidable weapon at her disposal. Her ears drooped slightly. Her eyes went as wide as possible, and she put on her most innocent smile.
"It's for my discovery...?"
Dagwolven stared at her. Gwonpalin widened her smile even more. He glanced at Narogol. The river troll, who clearly had no idea what their daughter intended to do with a whole basket of berries either, simply shrugged.
The garden troll sighed. "All right, but you—"
"Thanks!!" Gwonpalin bolted.
"Hey!" She had already crossed a good part of the camp. "GWONPALIN!"
"I'll be right back!"
Dagwolven stood rooted in front of the tent, one hand still raised in her direction. Narogol watched their daughter disappear around a bend in the tunnel, then looked at her mate.
"At least she told us she was leaving this time."
Dagwolven slowly lowered his hand. "She didn't tell us where."
Narogol opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Meanwhile, Gwonpalin was darting between the rocks, clutching her basket of berries tight against her. This time, she didn't intend to settle for just watching the gnomes from afar.
Life had resumed its rhythm in the small cavern. Two gnomes had just returned from an expedition, dragging a small wooden puppet behind them. The object was several times their size, and they had to join forces to haul it to the center of the village. Once the task was done, they both stood rooted to the spot, staring at their find.
They looked at the puppet, then at the food stores. The puppet was clearly inedible. Then they looked at the pile of shiny objects. The dull wood reflected nothing.
They exchanged a glance. One raised his arms in an obvious gesture of questioning, the other did the same. Finally, both turned toward the gnome in the green hat.
He stepped forward and studied their find for a long moment. He tilted his head to the left, then to the right. He scratched the back of his head. He was evidently just as clueless. After a few seconds of thought, he pointed to a third pile in a corner of the cavern. That spot seemed reserved for objects that were neither edible nor useful, nor shiny enough to merit a place among the treasures.
The two gnomes nodded. They began dragging the puppet over there when a scraping sound suddenly reached them from one of the crevices.
Everyone froze.
"Ouch... That bushigal of a...—"
The gnomes turned slowly toward the source of the noise. Something stirred among the rocks, and then a head appeared. Gwonpalin found herself facing a multitude of small eyes fixed upon her, and she froze.
The gnomes did the same.
"Um..." Her smile turned awkward. "H-hi?" The cavern erupted in shrieks as the gnomes scattered in every direction. Some leapt into baskets, others vanished into crevices, and several took refuge behind piles of objects, one diving headfirst into a box, leaving his legs sticking out.
Gwonpalin’s eyes went wide. "Wait!"
She tried to free herself more quickly, but only succeeded in wedging her satchel between two stones. "I’m not going to hurt you!"
She tugged. The satchel suddenly came loose, and Gwonpalin nearly toppled forward. As her body finally cleared the opening, she immediately raised both hands.
"I come in peace! Don't panic!"
That didn't seem to convince anyone at all. Or almost no one. The gnome in the green hat had remained in the middle of the cavern. With his small fists clenched, he faced the intruder. He was far too small to pose any serious threat to her, yet his stance clearly showed he intended to try anyway if she came any closer.
Gwonpalin slowly lowered her hands.
"All right..." She sat down against the cavern wall. "I'll stay right here."
The basket she had been holding between her antlers was gently removed. She set it on her lap.
Several small heads emerged from their hiding places when Gwonpalin reached a hand into the basket.
She simply pulled out a berry. "Look." She raised it to her mouth and bit off half.
A few gnomes reappeared.
Gwonpalin calmly finished the fruit, then picked up another. She held it out toward the nearest gnome. He let out a panicked squeak and darted behind the one in the green hat.
"Oh." Gwonpalin pulled her hand back. "Right, too fast."
She simply placed the berry on the ground, far enough away that a gnome could retrieve it without having to get close to her hands. Then she ate another one and waited.
The gnome in the green hat looked at the berry. Then at Gwonpalin. Then back at the berry. Behind him, several of his kin were chittering in low voices. One even seemed to be trying to hold him back.
He brushed the other one aside and stepped forward cautiously. Gwonpalin pretended to be deeply interested in the berry she was eating.
The little leader finally reached the one on the ground. He sniffed it, looked up at the troll, and sniffed it again. Then he took a bite.
His eyes widened, and he gobbled up the rest.
Gwonpalin smiled and set down a second one. This time, it took only a few seconds for one to come and fetch it. When he had finished, he turned to the other gnomes and addressed them with a series of shouts and gestures.
A few protested, but the gnome in the green hat insisted.
One approached. Then a second. Gwonpalin simply continued placing berries in front of her. Soon, half a dozen gnomes had gathered at a safe distance. They remained ready to flee at the slightest sudden movement, but the food seemed to be outweighing their caution.
Gwonpalin watched them with fascination. From this close, she noticed details impossible to distinguish when they were darting between the trolls' legs. She knew their small stature, their red noses, and their distinctive hats. Yet... Her gaze settled on one of them.
The gnome's hat had lifted slightly when he leaned forward. Something was sticking out from underneath.
Gwonpalin narrowed her eyes. She thought she had glimpsed this before. She leaned in slightly, but when the gnome looked at her, Gwonpalin immediately straightened up.
He went back to eating.
She hesitated, then her curiosity won out. "Hey..." The gnome looked up. "Can I check something?"
Naturally, there was no answer she could interpret.
Gwonpalin slowly moved her hand toward his hat. She gently grasped the brim and lifted it. A small horn appeared beneath the fabric.
"I knew it!—" The gnome let out an indignant shriek. "Ow!"
His incredibly sharp teeth had just clamped down on her finger. "You've got quite a set of teeth!"
All the gnomes stepped back. The biter let go of her finger and scurried toward the others, a sudden, heavy silence fell over the cavern.
Gwonpalin looked at her finger. Tiny tooth marks were imprinted on it.
The gnome in the green hat rushed over to the culprit. He squeaked furiously, waving his arms, while the biter backed away under the scolding. Around them, the others stared at Gwonpalin with concern.
She understood. "Oh! No, no!"
The leader turned around.
"It's my fault!" She pointed to her own chest. "I shouldn't have taken his hat off without asking."
The gnomes stared at her.
Gwonpalin looked at the one who had bitten her. "I'm sorry." She picked up a berry and placed it in front of him. "Here. To make it up to you..."
He looked at the fruit, then at his leader, then at the troll. Finally, he pounced on it, grabbed it, and gobbled it up so quickly that Gwonpalin burst out laughing.
The gnome in the green hat seemed unsure what to make of her now. The wariness that had previously marked his face had given way to clear curiosity, mixed with a certain confusion.
Gwonpalin looked at her basket. There were still plenty of berries left.
Several gnomes instinctively stepped back when she placed both hands underneath it. But instead of keeping it on her lap, she set the whole thing down in front of them.
"You can have the rest."
One gnome stepped forward, then two. Suddenly, the basket all but vanished beneath a mass of eager little bodies.
Gwonpalin laughed again.
The leader, however, remained standing before her. She studied him for a few seconds.
"Say, are you the leader?" The gnome tilted his head slightly. "Well... I suppose you don't necessarily understand what I'm saying."
He blinked.
Gwonpalin grabbed her satchel and pulled out her notebook. The gnome’s eyes immediately locked onto the object.
"Do you mind if I jot down a few notes about you all?" She opened the notebook. "You aren't really like the way a lot of trolls describe you, and I find that absolutely fascinating..."
The gnome kept staring at her. Gwonpalin began to lose her confidence.
"I mean, you know, I... I realize it might sound a bit odd put that way. I don't want to force you. You surely value your privacy and all that — plus, this is your home, and I just barged in without asking..." She partially closed the notebook. "So if you'd rather not, I can just—"
The green gnome turned around. He shouted something to the others. Several gnomes momentarily abandoned the berry basket to answer him, and a surprisingly lively conversation ensued. Some made sweeping gestures. One pointed at Gwonpalin. Another shrugged. The one whose hat she had removed earlier squeaked something out while continuing to eat.
Finally, the leader turned back to her and shrugged. Gwonpalin stood open-mouthed. She looked at her notebook, then at the gnomes.
"Aaaargh— you actually understand us!" Several gnomes jumped at her sudden burst of enthusiasm. "We were completely wrong about everything!"
Gwonpalin solemnly clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head. "Gnomes, on behalf of the trolls, I offer you my apologies!"
She straightened up, beaming, and reopened her notebook. She had so much to add!
A few hours passed this way. Gwonpalin filled the pages of her notebook with writing. She sketched the various areas of the small settlement, observed how the gnomes distributed their finds, and noted down everything she could glean about their habits. Some even came close enough to peer over the edge of her pages, clearly intrigued by the tiny likenesses of themselves appearing beneath her fingers.
The gnome in the green hat stayed nearby most of the time. The initial wariness had all but vanished. He now seemed mostly curious about this strange troll who had arrived in their village with food, only to spend hours watching them... live.
Gwonpalin could likely have stayed much longer. But when she began to yawn for the third time, she realized it might be time to head back.
She closed her notebook. "Well... I'll be going now."
Several gnomes turned their heads toward her.
Gwonpalin packed her things into her satchel and stood up. The basket of berries had long since been emptied. She picked it up anyway, then cast one last glance around.
"Thank you for letting me stay."
The gnome in the green hat raised a small hand. Gwonpalin smiled and mimicked him. "I'll be back!"
She made her way back to the narrow opening where she had entered, crouched down, and crawled into the passage. The first stretch posed no problem.
She moved slowly, occasionally pushing her satchel ahead of her when the rock grew too tight. Her knees scraped the ground and her antlers forced her to tilt her head frequently, but she knew the way by now.
She passed the halfway point and then stopped, frowning. Pushing with her arms, she inched forward a few centimeters before coming to an abrupt halt.
"Huh?" She tried to back up, or at least, she attempted to.
Blinking, she took a deep breath, sucked in her stomach, and pushed again.
"No..."
She pushed harder. The stone was squeezing her sides. Gasping for breath, she reached her arms out in front of her, searching for a handhold so she could pull with all her might.
"C-coooome ooon..." But it was no use. "I shouldn't have eaten all those berries—"
She pulled again.
"Noooooooo!!"