WORDS TO USE: troll – candy – skunk – gasp – yellow

Stefano gave a squeaky greeting as he ambled down the riverbank toward his friend. It made him smile when Timothy looked up from his favorite sitting spot under the bridge, his big brown eyes lighting up in delight.

Then he stood up, forgetting how tall he was and how he had been sitting under the shorter part of the bridge. He conked his head and grumbled something Stefano didn’t understand, but imagined wasn’t anything happy.

“It’s been too long,” Timothy said, rubbing his head. “I’ve missed talking to you.”

Stefano settled himself on a patch of grass, curling his bushy black-and-white tail around him. “The Fam has had a lot of visitors lately. The kids like to show me off. Try to get me to do a few tricks they think they’ve taught me. Like rolling over or some other ridiculous thing to reward me with an egg or a yellow jacket.”

Timothy gave a nod of understanding, of sympathy. “Still, you like your Fam. Like your cushy home.”

Stefano couldn’t deny it. A couple of years back, the kids had found him as a baby skunk, sitting lost and frightened beside his dead mother. Some idiot driver had hit her as they’d been crossing the road in front of their farm. They’d taken him home, had him fixed so he couldn’t spray, and built him a pretty nice pen to live in. He liked his humans, but he liked to sneak away for an adventure or to visit his friend whenever he got a chance. He’d had that opportunity today.

He glanced around, sniffed a bit, wondering if there were any grubs close by. That was how he’d met Timothy. Stefano had been wandering around this bridge, looking for some grubs to eat that day.

He remembered how Timothy had slipped on a muddy stone in the water under the bridge. He’d scared Stefano so much he’d gasped and nearly had a heart attack. But Timothy had looked so unhappy with his situation that Stefano had scooted closer and asked if he was hurt.

Timothy had looked stunned that anyone, even a skunk, had actually seen him. He was a troll, after all, and only believed to be mythological. Except he wasn’t. He was real. From that odd moment on, they’d become friends. The troll who nobody seemed to notice living by this river and under the bridge. And the skunk who most humans and animals kept their distance from.

“I’ve got treats,” Timothy said in his usual deep voice. “Some recently washed pebbles for me, and some dead crickets that I found the other day and saved for you.”

Stefano scurried closer. “Crickets! Yum!” He grinned at his friend. “And your candy of choice: pebbles.”

As soon as Timothy brought forth his stash of goodies, they settled down to eat and share the latest news in their lives.