Bagdwella barely knew the two, not like she knew the Trollhunter. She'd been slightly offended at Steve's exclamation of "Ma'am. Sir? Creeper…?", but she bit back her judgment the moment she stepped out from underneath the bridge. Safely stowed beneath the shade of the trees, she offered a smile which caused the shorter one to flinch. The taller one, with the oily mop on his head and upturned collar, placed a hand on his shoulder.
That had been just over a month ago, and Bagdwella wasn't entirely sure why her thoughts strayed to the duo. Her eyes fell to the mess that had once been her cave. Her precious collection of socks and trinkets lay buried beneath the rubble, the tv screens shattered around her. She tried not to think, as she lifted a stone, that these rocks had once belonged to trolls, turned by Gunmar, and forced to fight in his army. Her friends, ones that they had no other choice but to kill.
Gunmar was gone, and yet he never would be. His mark lay on every piece of rubble that covered every inch of troll market. It was so horrible, so wrong, to disturb those piles. But time does not stop for those in mourning.
Lifting a particularly heavy stone, her thoughts strayed back to the boys. She had met only three humans before (four if you counted the Trollhunter's mother), but she liked to think she understood them. The Trollhunter fought because it was his duty, the Trollhunter's shorter friend fought because Jim fought, and the girl fought for the sake of her brother.
But those fleshlings from the forest, they fought a fight that was not their own.
Why had they done that? Bagdwella would have liked to say she had some profound realization. Perhaps reiterate something she had found on a human phone booth decades before. Yet, for all of her centuries of wisdom, she remained at a loss. She simply would not, could not know. Perhaps that was alright.
In the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of yellow.
