Grunk's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Grunk had six days until the full moon, and no ground to sleep on. For 312 years the Deepwood had held him. Then he moved one root to save a mole burrow, and the forest cast him out. The burrow flooded anyway. The seventh litter of moles was never found. Now he wanted more than the Deepwood back. He wanted the old grove his tribe lost generations ago, the one no living troll had walked. But a troll who cannot rest cannot march, and Grunk had not slept longer than two hours since the forest turned on him. He walked the cold ridge until dawn, testing every hollow. Each one belonged to something. Frost had crusted his braided beard. His red Mohawk drooped flat with wet. He needed a den, any den, a patch of stone that would not throw him out at nightfall. Then he smelled old smoke and cold earth. A cave squatted in the slope, half-swallowed by roots. Stones jutted at its mouth like teeth. Grunk ducked under the tangle and felt the dry floor. Shelter. His knees nearly gave. "Taken," said a voice from the dark. Grunk froze. A mountain troll sat against the far wall, white hair wild, yellow eyes fixed on him. Moss grew up one arm. His feet did not move. They looked wrong, gray and hard as the floor. "Thrum," the old troll said. "I have watched this valley a long time." He did not offer his hand. "You are the one the Deepwood spat out." Grunk's throat tightened. "Word travels." "Trees talk." Thrum studied him. "You want back in before the moon fills." "I want more than that now." Grunk crouched, too tired to lie. "My tribe had a grove once. They were driven off. I mean to take it back. But I cannot plan anything standing up in the rain." Thrum was quiet. Then he looked down at his own feet. "Mine are turning to stone," he said, plain as weather. "Sat too long. Watched too long. Now I cannot stand." Grunk understood the trade before Thrum named it. "Stay," Thrum said. "Sleep. The cave is warm and no forest owns it. In return, help me stand before the rest of me sets." Grunk looked at the dry floor, the low roof, the roots holding out the wind. He had not chosen to help anyone in six months. Helping had cost him everything. But he could not walk another night. "Done," Grunk said. He lay against the wall and slept. Not two hours. All day and into dark, deeper than he had slept since the banishment. When he woke, his head was clear for the first time. He had a roof. He had a partner who could not run away. He also had a debt. He had promised to lift a troll whose legs were already stone, and he did not yet know how.