From the Duff & Shaw Field Journal — The Stone Troll Expedition
The innkeeper would not draw us a map.
He would, however, draw a remarkably detailed picture of two men being flattened beneath a boulder.
“Is that us?” Duff asked.
The innkeeper added the mustaches.
We departed before breakfast.
For three days, we followed a mountain trail that appeared on no survey and offered very little encouragement. Trees grew sideways. The wind made a noise like someone sharpening cutlery. At the final pass, we found a boot embedded in the rock.
Shaw examined it carefully.
“An unusual geological inclusion.”
“An excellent reason to keep moving,” Duff said.
The cave lay beyond a waterfall, its entrance worn smooth by something considerably larger than weather. Inside, our lantern revealed heaps of small, mottled stones arranged along a shelf.
Not scattered. Arranged.
Someone had been sorting them.
Shaw knelt beside the nearest pile. Beneath the cold mineral smell of the cavern was something distinctly out of place.
Chocolate.
He split a specimen. A thin, crisp shell gave way to a rich brown center.
Duff leaned closer.
“Well?”
“This may require us to reconsider several established principles of geology.”
“Does it require a bag?”
“A reasonably large one.”
Field photograph: Initial examination of the specimens. Neither investigator has yet noticed the proprietor.
We worked quietly, transferring samples into our satchel while Shaw attempted to establish a classification system. Duff’s system was simpler: promising, very promising, and already eaten.
Then a draft moved through the chamber.
The lantern flame leaned toward the entrance.
Somewhere behind us, gravel shifted.
Shaw raised one finger.
“Listen.”
The sound came again. Slow. Deep. Almost familiar.
Breathing.
Our light crept across the far wall. What we had taken for a ridge was a shoulder. The shelf above it was a brow. And beneath that brow, an eye opened with the grinding reluctance of a millstone.
Duff looked down at the half-filled satchel.
“How attached do you suppose he is to these?”
The troll sat up.
A quantity of mountain fell from its head.
“Quite,” Shaw said.
We left with the specimens, most of our equipment, and none of our professional dignity.
Behind us, an enormous hand struck the cave mouth. Rock burst across the trail. Duff ducked beneath a falling branch while Shaw clutched the satchel with the fierce devotion normally reserved for rescued children and unpaid invoices.
“Drop some weight!” Duff shouted.
Shaw threw away the geological hammer.
“The other weight!”
“I know what you meant.”
We ran until the stars faded.
By sunrise, the mountain stood silent behind us. Shaw opened the satchel beneath a stand of dripping pines and counted the surviving specimens.
Duff ate one.
Shaw began counting again.
The shells broke with a satisfying crispness. The chocolate within was rich and smooth. After a night spent narrowly avoiding becoming part of the landscape, the effect was restorative.
“Was it worth it?” Shaw asked.
Duff considered his torn sleeve, the missing equipment, and the distant mountain.
“Ask me after another.”
We have recorded the location in the expedition ledger.
We have also glued those pages together.
Yours in adventure,
Duff & Shaw
Recovered Provision: Chocolate Stone Troll Rocks Candy. A crisp candy shell. A rich chocolate center. Acquisition considerably easier from this side of the expedition.
