Day 84: Love Story Part 1

Write a quick love story.  The story must end badly.

Gray rock formed the two-room dwelling.  The ceiling, left in the rough form of the natural cut of the rock, stood ten feet above the smooth rocky floor, sanded to a shine.  Elk and deer hides used as throw rugs littered the floor.  On the wall next to the thick oak door, a bench extended out of the wall.  An oak table to seat four stood in front of the bench.

Continuing around the room, a fireplace set into the rock with a chimney drilled up through the ground to vent the smoke out of the cave.  On the mantel made of oak, a collection of pipes lined the ledge.  A small fire crackled in the opening with his morning pot of kaffe percolating.  The black brew bubbled up adding a rich deep smell to the burning wood.  The third wall held his sword and other military gear.  All ready to grab from the hooks if called to arms.

The last wall opened to a small bedroom.  The bed, like the bench, was carved from the wall.  A blanket of forest green wool lay smoothed out with a matching pillow.  A large grizzly bear rug lay at the side of the bed to keep his feet warm on the cold winter mornings.  Work clothes hung from one peg and a military uniform hung on another peg, all made of the green color as the blanket.

Another set of clothes lay folded on the table next to a rucksack, along with a water skin filled to the brim.  A pile of griddlecakes cooled on a plate with a cloth to wrap around the snack for a long trek across troll territory and across the northern border of the human lands.  Jerky would be added to his gear.

Hinn sat at the table, wearing his woodland outfit.  Dark brown hair, pulled back at the nap of his neck, fell to the middle of his back.  When he was born, the trolls whispered about his strange eyes.  In the light of day, they looked deep brown, but in the candlelight and torchlight of the caverns, gold flakes could be seen in the irises.  Most people saw his eyes as a sign of greatness.  His older brothers resented his eyes.

In his right hand, he held a wet stone and in the left his large hunting knife.  The scratchy sound of sharpening the knife rang out.  He hoped to hunt on his way to the cabin to add to the dinner they would share.  Months had passed since the last time he saw Frida.  A smile spread across his face at the thought of holding her by nightfall.  He imagined her already sweeping the floor, preparing the room for him.

Satisfied with the sharp edge of the blade, he stood and walked to the fire.  He poured his last cup of kaffe before leaving the caverns, which reminded him to pack some of the ground beans.  Frida, unlike the rest of humans he heard of, loved the drink.  His smile grew bigger, what a female.

As he took a sip of the hot liquid, the door to his cave flew open, banging against the wall.  He bellowed as the kaffe spilled down the front of his shirt scalding the hairs on his chest along with the dark skin.  He dropped the mug with a clatter and pulled the fabric away from his flesh to stop the burn.  All thought of the pain disappeared at the look on his nephew's face.

"Folke, what in the name of ice and snow is wrong?" Hinn asked as he stepped forward.

"Uncle is planning to follow you on your hunt.  He...." the young troll swallowed, "he plans to kill you, so that you can't become the new chief when Grandfather passes away."

"Let him try," Hinn growled.  His brothers threatened to destroy him all his life.  He was ready for the end of all the intimidation tactics they tried.

"That isn't all.  Father is on his way to your cabin in the woods.  He plans to kill the human woman you love.  You must go now to save her.  I will try to distract uncle."  Without another word, Folke rushed back out the door.

The color in Hinn's face drained away.  Frida.  In one step, he grabbed up his broadsword that hung on his wall, strapping the belt around his waist.  He reached out for his hunting knife that he laid on the table and shoved it in the sheath that hung on his regular belt.  A second knife he placed in his boot.   In three strides, he raced out the door not bothering with the other items he had intended to pack for his trip.