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Once upon a time there lived a troll by the name of Standforth. This Standforth was one who had been much maligned in the press, the reasons for which I will lay out at a point a little farther on in my tale. He was quiet and reserved, and lived with his little troll wife in a small earthen cottage the pair had built into the bank of a lazy flowing river. His wife was known by the name of Sallyforth, and she was as lovely a troll wife as ever a troll could hope to be wed to.
He was the proprietor of a generous yet modest parcel of land which spanned the river, over which he had constructed an elegant stone bridge, of the type one might see in a story of lands far away, with knights on white horses tramping across to save their maiden fair.
His purpose in constructing the bridge was that he might carry wheat he grew more easily from his western parcel eastward over the stream and into a small barn which he had also built himself. He then would sell the wheat to a local miller, thus creating for himself a life of simple abundance and modest comforts. (more…)