Black-Jack-Davey had been on the road since sun-up.
As twilight descended filching the last of the colour from his day he came upon a village.
Up ahead he could make out a little stone bridge and what he took to be a garrison turret.
On the far-side of the river were lights.
As Black-Jack approached the bridge it started to rain.
“Who goes there!” cried a gravelly voice.
From under the bridge lurched a hideous troll who leered at Jack and demanded, “Be ye friend or foe?”
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