Nemesis and the Troll King by Ashley Du Toit Page B

moment, then continued in a firm tone. “We have to keep moving, and we have to find your token.”
    Angered by the way Folgoo had spoken to him, Yarg sent Folgoo a single withering look. But the centaur’s words had served their purpose, Yarg was again focused on his quest. He struggled to his feet, then turned and continued on up the little path.
    The mountain wasn’t very steep overall, so for the most part Folgoo and Yarg walked side by side. No words were exchanged, but every now and then one of them would scratch vigorously away at this or that part of their body.
    The sun was past the midday point and the travellers were feeling the heat when Yarg spotted the first big tree.
    They walked up to it with the intention of relaxing in its shade for a short time, but as Folgoo reached it, a drop of something fell on his arm. Then cold, thick and gooey, it began to pour down in a stream.
    Both swung their heads up. Folgoo dropped his straight away when he realised what was happening, but Yarg stood looking up, his mouth slightly open. A great globlet plopped into his mouth. Yarg immediately tried to spit it out, but the slime slithered its way down his throat. He swallowed instinctively. Gagging, he raised his eyes to Folgoo in a silent call for help, but before Folgoo could act, feathers—big feathers, small feathers, brown feathers, white feathers—began to rain down on them. The cascade of feathers clung to the goo that coated them. Folgoo’s desire to laugh at the feathery blue troll disappeared instantly as he imagined the equally ridiculous picture he must make.
    Folgoo and Yarg looked up into the tree. Sitting there, grinning maliciously down at them, was the strangest bird they had ever seen.
    â€œWhat in troll’s tarnation did you do that for?” Yarg growled menacingly.
    The bird laughed cheerfully at them. “You’d better leave now,” was all he said. He lifted his big body and half-jumped, half-flew to the ground opposite them, then began running further up the mountain path.
    â€œHey, is your name George?” Folgoo yelled after him in frustration.
    The bird didn’t stop or even slow down, it just kept running.
    Looking at the back of the strange bird as it ran, Yarg became aware of Folgoo sniggering behind him. He turned and glowered at him and Folgoo’s laughter erupted into full-throated laughter. “We look like some kind of freaky feather monsters, absolutely ridiculous,” he wheezed out between guffaws.
    Yarg looked down at himself, then across at Folgoo, and realised that the centaur was right. They did make a ridiculous pair. His laughter joined Folgoo’s.

    George heard laughter ringing across the mountain. Tilting his head to one side, he wondered for a moment if he could have been wrong about these two. He shook his head and started running again.
    Two traps down, he thought, and one to go.
    If this last one didn’t get rid of them, then his name wasn’t George.

    Yarg and Folgoo tried their best to pick off the feathers and wipe away the goo, but they soon realised that it was going to be a long, hard process.
    â€œWe’ll have to find a river or something before we leave,” he said to Folgoo.
    Folgoo nodded, too weary to answer; the morning’s adventure had been tiring. They began to move in the direction the bird had run, picking off bits of feathers as they went. They had walked for some time when Yarg spotted something a bit unusual in the shadow of a grouping of trees. He nudged Folgoo, lifted his finger to his lips to indicate the need for silence, then pointed to it.
    Folgoo nodded his head to Yarg, telling him that he understood. They crept closer, as quietly as they could. From their new vantage, they could see a large nest made of bits of twigs and grass and twine loosely woven together.
    Yarg stepped up to the nest and looked around, as if half-expecting the bird to jump out at them. When nothing