Page 7 of A Bridge to a Troll's Heart
“You clearly aren’t. Tell me what happened.”
Arlo let out a huff and leaned heavily against the bridge’s railing. “I may have hurt my ankle a bit.”
“Let me see.”
With reluctance, Arlo removed his hands and extended his leg.
Tobias bent over him, reaching forward to carefully pull Arlo’s pant leg out of the way. A lock of his hair fell into his eyes, and Arlo tucked the soft strands behind his ear. Tobias didn’t seem to notice, his concerned gaze focused on Arlo’s foot.
“Arlo, your ankle is purple and swollen.” Tobias’s fingers gently skimmed his calf. “This must be very sore.”
“It’s not broken.”
“But it’s not healthy either. Have you put ice on it?”
Arlo nodded. His ankle was so hot it melted the snow in minutes.
“And have you taken any willow bark?”
The words slipped in one ear and out the other. All Arlo could think about was the warm spot where Tobias’s hand rested on his knee. He didn’t know anything about willow bark, but the tingles sparking from Tobias’s touch made his pain fade away better than anything he’d tried.
Tobias cleared his throat. “Willow bark, Arlo. Do you have any?”
He shook his head.
“Then I will get you some, but first, can you walk? Do you need help getting…” Tobias glanced beyond the bridge’s railing. “It occurs to me I don’t know where you sleep. Is there a house under your bridge?”
“My den, yes. I think I can make it.”
“Let me help.” Tobias stood and offered his hands.
Arlo clasped them and let Tobias tug him up. He tried to put weight on his injured side, but the pain flared, and he wobbled. Tobias’s grip on his hands prevented him from falling. His spirits sank. “It’s no good. I’ll sleep here.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Tobias moved in close and wrapped an arm around Arlo’s waist. “Put your arm over my shoulder and give me some of your weight. Come on.”
Arlo did as he was told, leaning on the smaller man. Tobias felt sturdy beneath him, muscles flexing under his winter layers. This close, he smelled of snow and cookies. Arlo took a deep breath as they hobbled to the railing he normally used to swing to the framework below.
“I can manage this part on my own. Mostly, I need my arms to get below the deck.”
Tobias cast a skeptical glance but released him so he could make the attempt. “If you’re sure.”
Arlo took hold of the rail, hopped his legs over, and levered himself down easily enough. Thank the snailtrollips he’d always had strong arms. He landed oh-so-carefully on one foot and used the joists to haul himself into his den.
“I’ve made it,” Arlo called out.
Tobias’s head appeared from above, upside down, hair hanging in loose waves. He must have been on his stomach, looking over the edge. “You’ll be all right until I get back? I won’t be long.”
Arlo grunted. His puffy ankle protested all this movement. He would sit down and prop it up. “Fine.”
“Boil some water.” Tobias disappeared again.
Tobias scampered off, thethump-thumpity-thumpof his footsteps fading in the night.
Putting the kettle on, Arlo fought a wave of anxiety. He’d never had a guest in his den before. He glanced around. What would Tobias think of the space he’d carved out for himself beneath the Red Elk River Bridge?
One cozy room, not unlike a cave, with earthen walls and floor, made stable with cut tree trunks and mud stacked just so. Thick muslin fabric draped from the entryway, pinned back for now, but when allowed to hang, the curtain blocked the draft very well indeed. A soft cushion of pine needles covered the ground and kept everything dry. His bed was made from them too. Their scent lingered heavy in the air: fresh, sharp, and spicy.
A small woodstove he’d built himself dominated the little room. His kitchen utensils hung neatly behind it. On the far wall, a set of shelves held his tributes, including the card Tobias had made for him and even the plate the cookies had been on. He only had one chair and wished for two.
