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“Ted!” Sandyman the Miller tromped down the walk from the mill, finding his son, seated on a stone, hidden behind the forsythia bush, a plate with a whole roast chicken on his lap. “That was my lunch!” the irate father fumed. He directed a kick at Ted’s rump but kicked the stone instead, and hopped about in pain for a time. Ted fled, taking along the chicken.
“What trollish behavior!” commented Frodo Baggins from his vantage point on the Hill.
Sam now had an idea for a poem. “Old Troll sat on his seat of stone,” he murmured to himself.
Sam peered from behind the stones that lined the beginning of Gollum’s stair. A troop of orcs passed, followed by a line of five trolls. One of the trolls grunted and leaned forward, scooping up a particularly small orc that walked before them. A twist of the orc’s neck and it was dead. In moments each of the trolls was gnawing at a limb.
Sam swallowed down his gorge. “Seems I wasn’t all that far off in that poem of mine about the stone troll,” he whispered. “I swear, them’s worse than I ever thought from old Mr. Bilbo’s stories.”
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