Nemesis and the Troll King by Ashley Du Toit Page A

muttered to himself, but saying that, he started up the mountain.
    They walked half the morning away before they decided to stop for a break. To Yarg’s delight, there were lots of trees to rest under. He pulled out his water bottle and took a long drink before sharing with Folgoo. Frowning, he looked over the path in front of them. “Do those look like feathers to you?” he asked.
    Folgoo lowered the bottle and looked to where Yarg was pointing. He took a step closer towards the feathers. Bending, he picked one up and looked at it carefully. “Whose feathers are they, though?”
    â€œMaybe they’re George’s. Maybe George is a bird,” offered Yarg, stepping closer to Folgoo to get a better look. “Let’s follow them and see where they lead us.”
    Yarg started walking, picking up one small feather at a time. So intent was he on this task that he walked straight into a bush. About halfway in, he realised that the big leaves were sticking to him and stopped, only to be bumped forward again by Folgoo, who had been hot on his heels.
    Yarg and Folgoo stared at the thick strands of yellowish-green globby goo that coated the leaves. Folgoo looked down at his fur—the goo was all over him. It was sticking his tail to his rump, so he reached behind him and tried to wipe it off, but was disgusted to find that all he accomplished was to get the goo all over his fingers.
    â€œWhat is this?” hissed Yarg, looking in horrified fascination at the slime.
    â€œRevolting,” said Folgoo.
    Yarg raised his eyebrows. “Do ya think?” he asked sarcastically.
    â€œI would say it’s the goo from a blobworm, but that’s not possible,” Folgoo continued thoughtfully. “Blobworms went extinct about five hundred years ago.” He began to pull the slimy strands from the fur on his arms, but ended up with goo all over his hands. Naturally, at this time his nose began to itch and he instinctively lifted a hand to scratch it.
    The sight was too much for the centaur. He went into peals of laughter at the yellow-green globs now hanging from the troll’s big blue nose.
    Yarg shot him a ferocious look. “You wouldn’t be laughing so much if you had a mirror, centaur!” he said ferociously.
    Remembering his own slimy situation, Folgoo immediately sobered.
    â€œNow, how do we get this stuff off?” asked Yarg.
    â€œI think we might have bigger problems than that,” muttered Folgoo. “Do you feel a bit itchy by any chance?”
    Yarg blinked when Folgoo mentioned it because the urge to scratch his nose had returned. At first it was a tingle, then a tickle, and then his whole body began to feel as if a million tiny legs were dancing across it. He started to scratch. His thick skin began to feel as if it was on fire, and he started to hop around on the spot.
    Folgoo must have been experiencing the same sensations, because he also began to scratch madly with his hands and rear hooves. He groaned in torment.
    Folgoo hissed, “It must be a poison itchy plant of some sort.”
    Yarg was so busy scratching his knees, it took him a moment to ask, “Why the plant and not the goo?”
    Folgoo glared as if Yarg were deliberately trying to annoy him.
    â€œBecause blobworm globs aren’t known for their itching properties.”
    â€œBut you said it couldn’t be a blobworm,” protested Yarg, struggling to reach the itch in his skin through the bits of feather, sand and leaves matted firmly in his blue fur. “You said they were extinct.”
    Just then his big toe got an awful itch. He bent forward in an effort to scratch it and promptly fell over. “We’ll never get this goo off us and we’ll never find the feather,” he said, sitting in the dirt, his head hanging despondently.
    â€œ Enough !” yelled Folgoo. “ Stop Whining !”
    The centaur took a deep breath, scratched his chest furiously for a