When Gnorr was fit enough to move, they all returned to the treasure chamber. Light from the replenished torches showed the extent of his sunburn.
"Bits of Gnorr will be flaking off for days," he explained, "but he's had worse."
Most of the day was spent fashioning sacks out of the rags that were lying about, and filling them with the Fellthorn Trolls' ill-gotten gains. Lora found both her parents' brooches, and kept them safe in her money-pouch. Sticky put his secretarial skills to work and made a mental inventory of everything. He took only a few small things for himself: rings, precious stones, and the like.
"I do wish I had my type-writter," he said.
"Are you sure you won't take more?" said Lora, regarding his pathetic little pile.
"This will do just fine. I don't wish to be weighed down with more than I can carry."
They had now filled several sacks with gold, and had the rest of the treasure sorted into neat stacks.
"Do you suppose it's okay to leave it here?"
"Who would steal it?"
"Well, I would."
"Yes, but how many headstrong elflings adept in the art of club-warfare do you know?"
"I see your point. Well, come on, Gnorr. Let's get these sacks to the orphanage."
"Righto," said Gnorr, with a stiff salute.
Lora giggled, and picked up the smallest of the sacks while Gnorr slung two over each shoulder. Sticky tied up his little bundle, and carried it with his feet until he could retrieve his typing wand. Together they made the trek to the entrance of the cave. Soft moonlight filtered through the gaps in the curtain where the four Fellthorn Trolls still stood, looking quite ridiculous with nothing to push.
"What shall we do with them?"
"Leave it to Gnorr," said Gnorr.
Gnorr picked up a petrified troll under each arm, and took them out into the clearing. Sticky and Lora watched him arrange them and then return for the others. He placed them in an arc around the entrance to the cave, facing away from it. They now looked as if they were fleeing for their lives from whatever lay within.
"That ought to scare away any brave treasure-hunters," said Sticky with a wink.
"Hur-hur-hur," chuckled Gnorr.
They headed for the archway. Once through, they paused a moment. With the moonlight shining full on the face of poor old Fnorr, Sticky could now see the likeness between the brothers.
"I'm sorry about your brother, Gnorr," said Lora.
"Gnorr thanks you. Fnorr wasn't always bad. Gnorr will always remember his good side."
Lora hefted her club; she seemed to have something in mind. Sticky watched in surprise as she walked forward and laid the club respectfully at Fnorr's stone feet. Sticky smiled, and bowed his head with the others for a moment of silence. Then, one by one, they moved off; eager to return to the denser, happier forest.
They hadn't gone far when Lora began feeling the weight of her sack. She dropped it to the ground for the third time, and Gnorr's giant hands gently reached down for her.
"Hey, what are you doing? Whoa!"
Lora was whisked into the air and deposited on Gnorr's shoulders. She clung to a tuft of his matted hair.
"Better?" said Gnorr.
"Um, yes. Thanks."
Sticky shook his head. In all his years of living with the trolls, he'd never once met one that was civil - let alone kind. He flitted up past both their heads, and took the lead.
By the time they'd reached the ground-squirrel's glade Lora had fallen asleep, and was using Gnorr's head as a pillow. Sticky signalled to stop, and went to fetch his bundle from behind the rock. To his dismay, it had been raided by the squirrel. The last of his terrible troll bread and dried fruit were gone, but all his non-edible things - including his beloved typing wand - remained.
When he'd gathered it together and incorporated his treasure, he turned to find Gnorr picking at a branch of the oak from which Lora had fallen last evening.
"What's up, Gnorr?"
Gnorr let go of the branch, which snapped back to its former place, and showed him the contents of his hands: acorns.
"A present," he said.
He wandered about from hole to hole with his head cocked to one side. When he found the correct one, he stopped and dumped the entire lot down it. The squirrel squeaked angrily, fought its way to the top of the pile, saw the troll, and quickly disappeared again.
"Hur-hur-hur!" Gnorr chuckled, and they resumed their journey.
The squirrel watched them go, then became more interested in the bounty that had fallen into its lair. It shoved several acorns into its cheeks, and disappeared down the hole to stow them.
An odd little tune like the falling of pebbles graced the night air, lost its way, and another soon followed it. After a bar or two, a high, squeaky whistle joined in, and attempted to keep up.
The End.