Troll Monster Beast from Pixabay

A Troll’s Party Days All Run Over

Greg Prince
4 min readMay 11, 2019

Legend and lore followed and adored by trolls and magic hordes.

To her annoyance, Grelor remained unnoticed each day. One hundred years passed since the last time human hands touched her. She waited for the sun to set this late afternoon because she planned to set the night on fire.

The frog resting on her hardened concrete day-self felt wet and cold. Grelor didn’t mind the company. A troll will tolerate, even enjoy, all things happening nearby in their statue phase. She loved being present and being invisible.

As the sun’s last beams faded behind the end of the world Grelor felt her exterior softening. Finger and toes cracking. Neck stretching and spine snapping then began her slow transmogrification.

Ten minutes passed. She stood still and radiant but once again animated.

Grelor shrieked and frightened all the creatures within earshot. The rumbling noise of the wheeled human vessels above drowned out her scream but a peregrine falcon heard.

After swooping down from the railing of the bridge beautiful blue and grey wings flapped to a calm hovering landing and Grelor welcomed the bird on her extended arm. Falcons cannot resist the call from a powerful troll.

“What adventure will be ours tonight my feathered friend?”

Sparkle danced in the falcon’s eyes and he answered, “Eyawwk…”

“Let us find a church bell first!” Grelor said.

The old notion spread by Scandinavian lore suggested trolls could not stand the sound of church bells but Grelor found bells to be delicious.

“Fly me to a church steeple.”

The peregrine falcon grabbed Grelor in its talons and they soared into the sky.

Sharp falcon nails bit into her neck but troll’s are extremely strong and tough so she laughed at the tickle. Pain, only a sensation to enjoy while she remained free from stone status.



Greg Prince

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.