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"Take that, you ugly, green-bellied goblin-eater!" A taunt
worthy of Tasslehoff, Flint thought with satisfaction. He
hooted with joy as the monster's leg snapped from the force
of the blow. The troll uttered a sound - a low, cold hiss of
dull pain - and tumbled backward. Its leg twisted and
flopped.
Now, for the kill, Flint hoped. Grabbing his axe, the hill
dwarf bounded down from his ledge. He raised the blade
over his head and closed on the troll as the beast fell between
two rocks. Its leg hung to the side, useless.
But before Flint could reach the brute, the charging hill
dwarf halted in astonishment. The monster's leg twitched
slightly, and Flint heard a strange, grating sound, like two
jagged rocks scraping together. The troll took its lower leg
in both huge, warty hands and arranged it into a proper
alignment. Horrified yet fascinated, Flint unconsciously
moved closer to watch; the troll looked up through red-
veined eyes and hissed at him, slashing out with a jagged
claw. Flint drew back only slightly, but the troll returned its
attention to its wounded leg.
Amid the gruesome scraping sound, bubbles and bulges
could be seen forming under the troll's thick, green warty
skin
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