Jorunn (age 15) and Oddleif (age 12) are already spooked by the claw-tipped tracks of trolls in the snow. Midwinter, near dusk, not the best time to be snowshoeing through the 9th-century uplands of Norway!

(Jorunn: "YOUR-rune": main character of my historical-fantasy "Troll and Trylleri." This scene comes at the end of chapter two.)

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"I don't remember this path being so long," Oddleif said as twilight cloaked the forest in shadow.

Jorunn hushed him, for she'd heard a bough snap. Their breaths puffed in clouds as they peered all about in the gloom. Clouds of dread. Jorunn spotted a three-trunked spruce. "There," she whispered, pointing. "The best shelter from a troll, so my mother says."

Their snowshoes whisked in the snow. Jorunn heard the thump of snow hitting the ground, a bough-load giving way all at once. Then another thump, and another.

"Run!" she shrieked.

Now they could hear the monster's breath, panting and grunting like a charging bull.

Oddleif leaped with a clatter of snowshoes into the gap between the spruce trunks and flattened himself to make room for Jorunn, a step behind. "Now what?" he yelped.

"Cling to the trunk as still as a snail," Jorunn hissed. "Close your mouth. Breathe in tiny puffs." Her ankles twisted at a painful angle, jammed into the narrow space, two pairs of snowshoes and all.

The half-light dimmed to full dark as something large loomed just beyond the spruce's heavy boughs. The creature must be taller than a storage loft, Jorunn realized with a lurch. Her eyes widened in terror at the sight of a huge horny hand swatting at the branches. The monster bent to peer after its prey.

Jorunn nearly gagged at the stench of its breath, like a midden stirred up on a hot day. She clenched her jaw and stared at the shadowy rough-skinned face, nose like a barrel, fangs glinting like swords. Scalp – and various other body parts – shaggier than a wolverine.

The troll squinted, flared nostrils, bellowed disgust, turned to circle the three-trunked spruce. Its tail flashing past looked thicker than her arm, and ended in a dung-streaked tuft – though tuft was too pretty a word for that mangy hank of fur.

In the dim glow of twilight, Jorunn saw that Oddleif's eyes had widened like an owl. He pressed tight against the trunk. His rag-wrapped hands clawed into the bark of the spruce.

Jorunn watched the troll's movements as it came back to her side of the tree, growling like boulders in a river flood. The monster battered at the boughs, ripping them clean away. "Crunch, munch," the ogre thundered. "Hungry, hungry!"

Oddleif let loose a strangled cry.

The troll dropped to all fours and pressed its great snout close to the trunk. "Smell you, hear you, where you be?" it howled.

Oddleif made to bolt. Jorunn clamped her arm around his shoulders, pinning him in place.

One great taloned hand reached, grabbed – and raked claws down the outer side of the trunk. Jorunn felt the impact shudder the whole tree. The troll struck harder still, then scrambled around to the other side, flinging great clods of snow in its haste.

Oddleif trembled under Jorunn's touch. He pressed his forehead to the trunk as if he yearned to burrow into the living wood. "Odin, Thor, Freyr," he cried, "save us!"

More limbs snapped as the troll rose to full height and waged battle with the spruce. The ogre stripped one trunk bare, then grabbed that bole and wrenched. The tree did not give way.

"I'm sorry for your wounds, grandfather," Jorunn murmured, lips close to the bark.

The troll sank its fangs into the trunk as if it was some foe – then fell still as stone. There was just enough twilight to see one watery eye peering down the well between the trunks.

The fangs ripped free. The huge beast roared. "There! There! I see!" A hulking arm heaved into view above and came grasping down the crevice.

[chapter break]

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Excerpted from my novel and brought to the Weekend Write-in for this week's prompt word: "trunk"