Tattered

Chapter 15

Hrothgar's words echoed in my head like sharpened knives, and continued to haunt me days later. I couldn't think properly. I couldn't sleep; every time I closed my eyes my mind drifted into the realm of nightmares.

Last night I'd hardly slept at all, too terrified by the nightmare that had woken me up.

In the dream, Ingrid stood on a bridge over a ravine and waved for me to join her. I ran towards her, the bridge shaking under my weight. My arms reached to embrace her, and she smiled.

Instead, at the last second, I shoved her over the edge and into the darkness below. I glanced at my hands to find that they'd grown larger and my skin had turned rough and gray. I realized with horror that I had turned into a troll before the rickety bridge gave out from under me, and I fell into the depths. I woke up gasping, my stomach clenched in fear and my forehead broken into a sweat.

The most infuriating part of it all was that I couldn't even escape my thoughts through training, as I usually did. Not until my leg was healed enough anyway, and that wouldn't be for a few days yet.

"Almost done," Helga said, as she applied fresh wrappings to my wound. I saw the stern young girl daily to check on my injury, and make sure I was healing right.

We never exchanged many words, and she always had a fresh scowl for me, yet all the same I found I enjoyed Helga's company. She was certainly the most honest person I'd yet to meet at Heorot, never mind the fact that she was the only one willing to approach me.

I hissed as she wrapped the cloth a little too tight. "Careful," I snapped. She didn't acknowledge my comment, but began to loosen the wrappings slightly.

"I would have thought someone with troll blood would have a higher tolerance for pain," She said. It was the first time she had attempted to initiate a conversation with me. I arched a brow.

"I may be hard to cut, but I bleed like anyone else," I muttered in reply. I hesitated to ask her more. I wanted as much information as I could get about the trolls, but most of the Danes wouldn't even look at me, much less answer questions. Even if she only glared, I had to at least ask Helga what she knew.

"Have you heard anything of the troll's leader- Grendel?" I asked. The name tasted strange in my mouth, like a curse or an accusation.

Helga glanced up to me briefly before focusing back on her work.

"No," She answered shortly. I thought that would be all I'd get from her, but after a moment she continued. "No one knows much," She said. "I don't think he's ever come himself on an attack- he just sends out the others." She shrugged. "He must be smart, though, to bring all the trolls together. That's never happened before."

Grendel. I tossed the name around in my head, fear mingling with the inevitable curiosity. It had never occurred to me before that there could be other half-trolls like me, but now that I knew, the idea consumed me.

Did he look like me? Had he ever lived amongst humans as I did? Which of his parents was a troll? Despite all of the evil he'd done here, I'd die just for the chance to ask him all of my questions.

One particular thought burrowed deep in my mind, pestering me to no end. Here, amongst the humans, I was treated like a freak, an abomination- did the trolls really not care if one of their own was half human? I tried to picture it, but just couldn't.

"There," Helga said, tying a tight knot to make sure the wrappings didn't come undone. "Should last you at least til tomorrow."

"Thank you," I told her. She gave a terse nod in response, and with that I made my way out of the infirmary.