Gnarl! They call me. Curse! Craw! There’s new Wardens arriving. New hunters of the cursed. Will tell the Troll. Nice cart they have. What’s inside I wonder? Craw!
Heavy and slow the footsteps went. The dry grass was rustling. The soil resonated. Disturbed by a waltz of two feet and a hand. Bump bump bump – bump bump bump. A single glowing point of white in each eye, the Troll was attracted by what the Craw had whispered to his ear. Wardens. With swords and crossbows. He could smell the metal. But also the flesh of men and horse. Yet he hesitated. The sun was still too bright. These will sleep soon. Let’s wait for the night and the cold.
When finally the moonless night swallowed all hope and fears grew, the Troll was still standing and watching. The Wardens have looked at him several times, wondering how strange that stone looked and whether it had been there all the time. But whatever kept them from investigating was now disturbing their dreams. And the Troll watched.