lingered on the green face of the meadow. Ragweed strolled over and sat down beside her. He noticed the worm twisting in the leaves, picked it up, and offered it to her. She stuck out her tongue to show she wasn't hungry, to say no. He popped the worm in his mouth, chewed once, and swallowed.
"It's almost dark," he said. "We should go down to that turtle shell again."
The turtle shell is what he called the false cave built by people. "Why?" she asked.
Ragweed shrugged. "Might be something to eat."
"What if those people are still there? The man had a shining leaf." A sword. She had seen it last night when he came outside after the bigtooth ran that way.
Ragweed scratched his head, then probed one of his nostrils with a carrot-sized forefinger. Stirring up his brains in search of an idea, she guessed.
"We could try to scare them away," he offered.
She had guessed right. "You tried to scare them two or three times last night," she reminded him.
"Yeah," he said slowly. His face darkened cheerfully. "They're probably pretty scared by now!"
He didn't seem to notice her answering silence. She sagged on her haunches and studied him thoughtfully. Ragweed was the handsomest troll she'd ever seen-he had a beautifully shaped head that sloped back to a nice point, a brow so thick you could hardly see his eyes beneath its shadow, no neck to speak of, arms like the trunks of trees, and a belly as round and dark as the new moon. Short, bristly hairs ran down between his shoulders and into the crack of his buttocks. Just looking at him used to send shivers up her spine and make her feel all juicy inside. She'd flirted with him, and he'd responded, and she was as happy as any troll could be until she became pregnant and realized that Ragweed was not the sharpest rock in the pile. Of course, she couldn't be that much smarter. When it was time for her baby to be born, she'd let him persuade her to come down out of the mountains to this stupid little valley.
Ragweed grunted. "When I came down here a couple years back, the turtle shell didn't have people in it."
"Well, this year it did!" She'd heard the same statement a thousand times before, and she was tired of it. But more than that, she wanted to blame Ragweed for her baby's death. She wanted to blame somebody, anybody, because if it was somebody else's fault, then it wasn't hers.
Ragweed rooted idly in the dirt. "I'm hungry."
Windy sighed. She'd heard that a thousand times as well. She stood up. Doing anything was better than doing nothing. "Come on. Let's go down to the turtle shell. Maybe they'll be scared off. Maybe we'll find something to eat."
He clapped his hands. The crack echoed off the mountain walls, scattering birds from the trees. "Good," he said. "All you need is some food, then you'll put that baby down."
They walked down the familiar slope. They'd varied the path some every night, looking for new sources of food, but there were only so many ways to go. Ragweed turned over logs and broke off pieces of stumps, but they were the same logs and stumps he'd searched a dozen times before. They hadn't seen the carcass of so much as a dead sparrow in two days; it had been a week since they'd found that deer before the wild dogs got to it. Ragweed grabbed the lower branches of trees and stripped the bark off with his teeth. The rain had moistened them up a bit so they didn't taste so chokingly dry. The scent enticed Windy, but not enough to make her eat.
They arrived at the wide meadow beside the pond, and Ragweed waded into the water to slake his thirst. Windy's throat was terribly parched, despite the drippings she'd licked off the cave roof, so she followed him, holding the baby out of the water as she bent down to take a drink.
Ragweed splashed over and rubbed his hands on her bottom.
"Thhppppt!" Water sprayed out of her mouth. "Stop that!"
"Nothing to interrupt us now," he leered.
She ignored him, bending to take another sip. He reached around and squeezed her
"It's almost dark," he said. "We should go down to that turtle shell again."
The turtle shell is what he called the false cave built by people. "Why?" she asked.
Ragweed shrugged. "Might be something to eat."
"What if those people are still there? The man had a shining leaf." A sword. She had seen it last night when he came outside after the bigtooth ran that way.
Ragweed scratched his head, then probed one of his nostrils with a carrot-sized forefinger. Stirring up his brains in search of an idea, she guessed.
"We could try to scare them away," he offered.
She had guessed right. "You tried to scare them two or three times last night," she reminded him.
"Yeah," he said slowly. His face darkened cheerfully. "They're probably pretty scared by now!"
He didn't seem to notice her answering silence. She sagged on her haunches and studied him thoughtfully. Ragweed was the handsomest troll she'd ever seen-he had a beautifully shaped head that sloped back to a nice point, a brow so thick you could hardly see his eyes beneath its shadow, no neck to speak of, arms like the trunks of trees, and a belly as round and dark as the new moon. Short, bristly hairs ran down between his shoulders and into the crack of his buttocks. Just looking at him used to send shivers up her spine and make her feel all juicy inside. She'd flirted with him, and he'd responded, and she was as happy as any troll could be until she became pregnant and realized that Ragweed was not the sharpest rock in the pile. Of course, she couldn't be that much smarter. When it was time for her baby to be born, she'd let him persuade her to come down out of the mountains to this stupid little valley.
Ragweed grunted. "When I came down here a couple years back, the turtle shell didn't have people in it."
"Well, this year it did!" She'd heard the same statement a thousand times before, and she was tired of it. But more than that, she wanted to blame Ragweed for her baby's death. She wanted to blame somebody, anybody, because if it was somebody else's fault, then it wasn't hers.
Ragweed rooted idly in the dirt. "I'm hungry."
Windy sighed. She'd heard that a thousand times as well. She stood up. Doing anything was better than doing nothing. "Come on. Let's go down to the turtle shell. Maybe they'll be scared off. Maybe we'll find something to eat."
He clapped his hands. The crack echoed off the mountain walls, scattering birds from the trees. "Good," he said. "All you need is some food, then you'll put that baby down."
They walked down the familiar slope. They'd varied the path some every night, looking for new sources of food, but there were only so many ways to go. Ragweed turned over logs and broke off pieces of stumps, but they were the same logs and stumps he'd searched a dozen times before. They hadn't seen the carcass of so much as a dead sparrow in two days; it had been a week since they'd found that deer before the wild dogs got to it. Ragweed grabbed the lower branches of trees and stripped the bark off with his teeth. The rain had moistened them up a bit so they didn't taste so chokingly dry. The scent enticed Windy, but not enough to make her eat.
They arrived at the wide meadow beside the pond, and Ragweed waded into the water to slake his thirst. Windy's throat was terribly parched, despite the drippings she'd licked off the cave roof, so she followed him, holding the baby out of the water as she bent down to take a drink.
Ragweed splashed over and rubbed his hands on her bottom.
"Thhppppt!" Water sprayed out of her mouth. "Stop that!"
"Nothing to interrupt us now," he leered.
She ignored him, bending to take another sip. He reached around and squeezed her
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