By Emma Brown
He’d had a very busy day but had finally finished making the signs which proclaimed, “Trespassers WILL be Eaten.” He’d just made himself a nice cup of tea, and was settling down for a well-deserved snooze, when a tremendous noise shook the den; it felt like the roof was about to cave in.
“Those pesky beggars are back, making my life a misery,” he muttered as he heaved himself up. “Can’t they flippin’ read?” He lumbered towards the light, brushing dust off and clearing his throat as he went.
“Who’s that trip trapping on my bridge?” demanded the troll.