Betty needed a pet. His rabbit, Hend (named for his hand) had not turned out to be such a great pet. The same went for Head the raptor, Toe the hawk, Gress, Stick, and several other beasts the troll had tried to tame
Betty was a good hunter. He could shoot an apple out of a tree from a quarter mile, and then be there before it hit the ground. He was fast, had a great eye and though he could be clumsy it was never evident when he was hunting. He didn't really need a pet so much as he wanted one.
"Jus' like deh Big Guys, me gon' get pet." Betty's dark, floppy hat bobbed up and down, peeking up between the tall, dry wheat as he crossed through another of several farm fields. He was in human territory, but nobody had harassed him yet. Perhaps this was because he resembled a very young troll to the eyes of a human, or perhaps (and more likely) it was because he was so small that he escaped their notice.
"Big Guy guts big pet." Betty was obsessed with the Big Guys. which included any normal-sized troll, particularly those with blue hair. He was obsessed with the dark indigo hair and pale blue skin (his was tinged with violet) of the Big Guys. Betty had pink hair. He needed a pet to discuss these things with. "Betty mincher, so mebee get mincher pet." At this point, any size pet would do.
The prickle and "shush" of wheat gave way to a short, green field and the beginnings of a forest. Betty squinted at the bright emerald grass as it reflected the midday sun to his eyes, though they were shaded by the front of his oversized hat. He held a small leather sack over one shoulder, his bow in his right hand, and a quiver of arrows jogged about on the other shoulder. A sticky sucker was pasted to his skull behind his left ear. It was cherry.
Between narrow shoulders, he also had a staff. Hendstick, it was called. The top of the staff was a wooden hand. No relation to Hend the rabbit.
"Big Guy gots big j-juhunk." Betty whimpered and then cackled as he speculated on the 'junk' size of Big Guys. "Down to dem knee!" He threw a hand over his diminutive belly and doubled in two. Junk and poop were among the funniest things in the world. He might poop if he continued laughing so hard.
The troll now stood in the Southwest corner of Elywnn Forest. There had been an unusual amount of rain lately, and the massive roots held the water that the sun had been able to dry out of the un-shaded fields. Here, the ground squished beneath Betty's bare, two-toed feet, leaving prints that resembled those of some kind of mutant bird.
When his laughter had finally petered out, Betty straightened and ripped the sucker from behind his ear, taking several strands of pink hair with it. He picked the hair off and stuck the sucker in his mouth before continuing on. The sucker clicked noisily on his teeth as he clambered over giant tree roots and sloshed through temporary swamps. He had traveled for two weeks in search of the perfect pet, and it would take more than soggy feet to stop him. Besides, he had a whole bunch of suckers in his bag. He was set for at least another two weeks.
The flood waters had formed a river where there would normally only be a shallow stream to stone-hop across. Betty stopped. Water was his enemy. The Southfury river, back near home, haunted his dreams with visions of being 'eaten' and swept away. This river, though not as large as the Southfury, was certainly moving fast and looked almost as hungry. The lollipop stopped clacking and fell still as Betty sucked on it and stared.
"Demmit," the troll muttered. He had traveled all this way to be foiled by a river that was nearly four whole feet deep. "Demmit end me hett ya ess." Betty stomped a foot, sending mud up over his leg and into his loose shorts. He did a little dance of frustration, waving his fists and causing the Hendstick on his back to wave as well. Two whole weeks and now he'd have to walk home with no pet. The notion of trying to find a safe place to pass had not occured to him.
There was a sharp yip, and Betty jumped in alarm this time, instead of fury. He leaned forward, sharp eyes scanning the debris that floated and bobbed on the swirling surface. Further upstream, there was a fox paddling furiously against the current. The creature was desperately swimming toward a tiny point of rock that stuck up in the river's center. Each time its paws would land on the rock, which was far too small to hold the fox anyway, they would slip back off and it would resume its panicked struggle.
The fox's tail jerked from side to side as it continued to paddle and yip desperately as it lost against the river, floating further and further from the rock.
Betty dropped his bag and quiver to the ground. He left his prized bow on the grass as he ran along the shore, pulling the Hendstick off of his back. "Greb me hend, mon!" He shouted at the fox as he ran alongside it now. The fox's eyes widened and it bared its teeth in terror at the sight of the skinny troll with the giant hat reaching toward it. It tried to swim for the other shore and got sucked under where the current was stronger.
Betty barked in dismay, dancing from foot to foot as he waved Hendstick in the air and ran further downstream. The furry red body floated toward him and the troll barked again, tossing the Hendstick down and holding his hat on his head with one hand as he jumped off the bank and into the water, regardless of the danger. The water was a mere two feet deep where he had landed, but Betty's feet slipped and slid on the rocks, scrabbling for purchase as he kicked closer to where the fox was rapidly approaching.
There was a hole, four feet deep, where the river swirled and pulled downward. Betty cried out as he fell into this, still holding his hat on with one hand as his chin connected painfully with a boulder. Water filled his ears with a dull, pressing roar. His eyes burned as he looked up and saw the fox floating over his head, tumbling end over end. Betty's left hand grabbed for the fox, catching it by the back leg and pulling it in toward his narrow chest.
Stumbling and falling, sputtering and coughing, the troll escaped the pull of the deeper part of the river and crawled back up the bank. He fell on his back, knobby knees bent apart, toes spread as he panted. The fox was against his heaving chest, between the flaps of his open vest. It didn't cough or sputter. It was very still.
Still coughing, Betty rolled onto his knees, cradling the fox as water dripped onto it from the brim of his hat and the ends of his lop-ears. "Mon, yeh seen det? River try end eat yeh but den me besh it right upside deh head." Betty coughed again, looking down at the fox. It didn't answer.
"Aw, crep." Betty held the fox out, his hands caught in the pits of its front legs. It's head lolled pitifully to the side. The creature's back legs hung straight down, just like the chickens in the market. It looked like a dead market chicken. The troll began to cry, his voice buzzing and watery. "Naw, mon, yeh cen't be dead. Wekkup!" Betty shook the limp-chicken fox. Its head lolled to the other side.
"Wekkup! PLEASE!" Betty wailed, lowering the fox to the ground and turning it so that it lie on its belly with the tail facing him. Tears ran down the troll's cheeks as he tried turning the fox's tail like a crank. He cranked the tail and wept, sobbing brokenly. This was his new best friend, and now he was dead. "Wekkup mon me sevved yeh so yeh ent guts teh die!" he babbled almost incoherently.
Cranking the tail wasn't working.
Betty placed his hand on its chest, the creamy white fur there matted down. He jiggled it around, babbling at it to wake up, but it didn't move.
"Yeh dead." Betty cried, lifting the red and white fox to his chest and hugging it tightly. "Yeh dead end deh river killed ya."
A little white paw slowly clenched and unclenched against the troll's chest. One dark eye peeked open and then closed. It began to struggle, very slowly, all four legs waving with the molasses-slow movements of a newborn puppy. Betty buzzed and cried, rocking so hard on his knees that at first he didn't even notice that his dead fox was trying to be alive again.
The fox let out a low howl, in time with the troll's own cries. Betty was very depressed. The fox looked depressed, too.
Betty stopped rocking, his swollen eyes popping open. He loosened his grip on the fox and looked down.
Betty's hairless brow was raised in a triangle, his forehead wrinkling. The fox's fuzzy brow was raised as well. Betty sniffed. The fox sniffed and then sneezed.
Betty grinned. Slowly, the fox's muzzle pulled tight and up at the corners. The two smiled at each other for several minutes.
"Me gon' nem yeh Epple, cause me like epples."
Betty finally had a mincher pet for his own.