Island of Lost Trolls
Sayid stopped in mid-sentence as a deep growl sounded from within the bushes. The vegetation shook as something moved through it towards them. Something big.
“Oh my God,” Shannon gasped.
“What the hell is that?” Boone exclaimed.
Kate took a step backwards. “Something’s coming.”
“It’s coming towards us,” Charlie said uneasily.
“Come on, let’s move,” Kate snapped, and she spun around and ran. All the others followed except for Sawyer.
Suddenly a voice in the bushes bellowed “Ho, bear, I have you now! I shall crush you with my mighty hammer!” The voice was answered with a roar and a series of furious snarls. The bushes shook and thrashed.
Sawyer saw glimpses of white fur and red hair and something metal glinting in the sun. He put his hand to the butt of his gun. Suddenly there was the sound of a heavy impact, a concussive thud that could have been a pile-driver, and the snarling was replaced by whimpers. There was another thud, an interval of silence, and then the tread of heavy footsteps that made the ground tremble. The bushes parted.
Into sight walked a huge figure. Well over six feet tall, perhaps even approaching seven feet, and massively built. Human in shape, although the horns and greenish skin told a different story, and Sawyer’s mouth dropped open. The giant held a crudely forged hammer in one hand and carried the corpse of a polar bear slung across his shoulders. He smiled at Sawyer. “Hail, fellow,” he greeted. “You are a brave man, although puny, for you did not run from the snow bear. I greet you. I am Olaf, lord of trolls.”
The runners had stopped and turned around. They stared wide-eyed at the approaching figure. “Oh my God, it’s a polar bear,” Shannon gasped.
“A polar bear here is weird, yeah,” said Kate, “but oh my God, troll.”
“Hail,” Olaf called out. “It is good to see other people in this strange place. Was your longship wrecked on these shores?”
“Longship?” Sawyer repeated. “We were in a plane crash.” He saw Olaf’s brows crease up in apparent puzzlement. “Uh, a flying machine.”
“A flying machine?” Olaf’s eyes narrowed. “Are any of you witches? I hate witches.”
“No, we’re not witches,” Kate told him.
Olaf beamed. “Good. Then we can be friends.” He peered at Sayid. “A Moor? You have the look of a warrior, even though you fled from the bear.”
Sayid shrugged. “I have no weapon.”
“Hah! Good sense. Then I do not despise you, Moor, although I pity you, for you cannot share the pleasures of ale and mead.” Olaf tipped the bear from his shoulders and it crashed to the ground. “This is a good day for a lonely troll. We should celebrate. There is honey on this island, and I have brewed mead. We shall feast on roast bear meat, and drink much mead, and then,” he leered at Kate and Shannon, “I shall make merry sport with your more attractive females.”