Page 1 of A Bridge to a Troll's Heart
CHAPTER1
December
Tobias
Adjustinghis scarf to block out the chill, Tobias trotted along the path to the Red Elk River. There, he would cross the bridge and hang a left onto the trail that led to the Fern Pack’s territory. With his satchel full to bursting with gifts—tonight was the night before Christmas Eve—Toby grinned an ear-to-ear grin and hummed a cheery tune to himself.
A round trip to visit his sister’s family, one he’d made many times, took from sunup to sundown, especially during winter when days were short and nights long. Toby enjoyed his role as messenger between the wolf packs. He preferred spending his time outdoors. The exercise sent blood pumping through his veins and fresh air filling his lungs. If he dawdled enough, the stars would keep him company as the path guided him home.
Snow threatened. Toby scented its approach on the cool breeze. He hoped the weather would hold out until he’d returned safely to his little cottage, but then he’d love to see his village blanketed in white for Christmas.
Toby heard the river before it came into view. The rippling waves of the Red Elk never froze over. The water simply moved too quickly to be captured by a force as fickle as frost. No matter how cold the winter, wolf shifters could catch fish there. As a youngster, Toby spent lots of cheerful summer afternoons splashing along the moss-covered banks with his many siblings and countless cousins. The memories brought another smile to his lips.
His good mood remained as he stepped onto the footbridge’s wooden planks that spanned the narrowest section of the river. He ambled across, gazing at the rushing water and protruding rocks below.
“Ho! Who’s there?” came a booming voice from beneath his feet.
Toby startled and hopped back.
The rumbling baritone continued, “Who dares to cross Arlo’s bridge without first paying tribute?”
With unexpected grace, a large troll, his skin as gray as granite, climbed from under the rafters to block Toby’s way. He stood a head taller than Toby, with coppery-orange hair cropped close to his scalp. Eyebrows that could be mistaken for caterpillars drew tight together, and broad shoulders flexed beneath layers of dingy wool. His cheeks were flushed and puffy. But what Toby found most startling were his robin’s-egg-blue eyes, watery and glazed over as though he’d been crying.
“Hello, Arlo. My name is Tobias.” Toby offered his hand. “My friends call me Toby.”
Arlo sniffed and stared at Toby’s hand as if he had extra fingers that had been dipped in slime. After some awkward consideration, he reached out and swallowed the smaller hand in his giant one with a gentle grasp. Arlo’s warm hand felt so good Toby didn’t want to let go.
“Well then, what should I call you?” Arlo grunted.
“I meant we should become friends.” Toby gave Arlo’s fingers a squeeze. “So call me Toby.”
Puffing out his chest, Arlo dropped Toby’s hand. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re playing. You only want to be friends to avoid paying my tribute. I won’t have it, Tobias. I guard this bridge and keep it safe. If you’d like to use it, you must earn your way fair and square.” He crossed his arms and glowered.
Toby scanned the landscape. A lush canopy of trees on either side, chipmunks scurrying to their burrows, and clouds overhead. Which of these threatened the safety of the footbridge of Red Elk? And since when did this bridge have a pouting resident troll?
“Guard it from what?” asked Toby.
Arlo shrugged and waved Toby’s question off as if it were of no importance. “What will you give me to cross?”
“Well, I suppose I must give you my apologies, as I’ve brought nothing extra on my journey. And I would like to be friends. You look as if you need one.” He studied Arlo’s expression and saw a longing that hinted at melancholy. “Are you quite all right, Arlo?”
Their gazes locked; Arlo’s teary blue eyes glared with scrutiny, even as Toby offered a smile. The troll glanced away and exhaled, breath wispy in the wintry breeze.
“Looks like you have plenty.” Arlo gestured to the bulging sack over Toby’s shoulder. “What’s in the bag?”
“These are gifts from my family and friends of River Pack to my other family and friends of Fern Pack. They are mostly for the children. I’m sorry, but none were meant for you.”
Arlo huffed and turned up his nose. “I will take your apologies this time, but next we meet, you’d better have a tribute.” The troll stepped aside to let Toby pass.
Reluctant to leave Arlo alone and unhappy, Toby asked once more, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Perfectly fine,” said the troll with a stubborn harrumph.
“You can come with me if you like.”
Arlo’s pupils widened. His mouth hung open.
Toby moved one step closer within arm’s length, his gaze lingering on Arlo’s face. Handsome features, though not typical: rounded cheeks framed an angular jaw, a sharp nose sat over his plump, finely shaped cupid’s bow of a mouth, and a smattering of charcoal freckles fell across his silver-gray cheekbones. Toby rather liked Arlo’s looks, except for the puffy eyes. Why had Arlo been crying?
