So, the trio left the wooded area with its lush moss and leaf carpet, moving across a series of flower-studded meadows interspersed with light copses of silver birch and deep green sycamore where the breezes played lazy games with the leaves. Everyone was quiet and thoughtful, but the mood gradually brightened as the morning sun rose higher in the sky.

Grimmbros’ sophisticated attire had lost a little of its elegance over the last day, his trousers were worn at the knee and his jacket looked somewhat distressed, still, he seemed ready for now to see where events would take him. Fürgůïn marched onward, the tibmibling on his shoulder pulling faces at Razzles, who threw acorns at it to try and make it stop, one hit Fürgůïn on his long trailing ear, but the renling was oblivious, intent on covering as much ground as possible.

The sound of heavy urgh-bane feet plodding along through the foliage and the lighter, more frisky movement from the halflings was eventually punctured by a sharp outburst from Fürgůïn, “This way, there it is!” He pointed gleefully before continuing, “Toll bridge. See? Toll bridge!”

Razzles stared wide-eyed at an aged stone bridge spanning a broad river in the distance. The bridge was made up of four big arches, one of which seemed to be undergoing some renovation. In the centre was a squat structure that looked like a home to someone or something. The main footway passed straight through this dubious dwelling by virtue of yet another arch, an easy point at which to confront anyone crossing.

“The toll bridge,” Razzles muttered to himself, continuing in an undertone, “Hmmm... toll bridge... toll... bridge... Hey, wait a minute! If it’s a toll bridge who collects the toll?” He looked pleadingly toward the renling ahead of him who had stopped in his tracks and paused for a moment before replying with a sigh, “I don‘t know - it’s usually oafes, isn’t it? What difference does it make who? We still have to cross.”

“Well if it’s a toll bridge and there’s oafes on it they’re... they’re...” Razzles struggled to find the right words since only he seemed bothered by the matter. “What are you going to pay them with? Oafes eat humanoids in case you forgot... E-A-T H-U-M-A... N-O-Y-D-S... Wait... or is it haemorrhoids?”

Grimm looked disgusted as if he couldn’t believe the knohm’s stupidity.

“I want to go home!” Razzles muttered weakly, hopping from foot to foot.

Razzles was becoming hysterical and turned around to face Grimmbros for some reassurance. The urgh-bane was quietly watching the two of them and seemed at first a little puzzled by all the fresh bickering. Fürgůïn smiled a tight little smile, but was visibly perturbed by Razzles’ sudden outburst and remarked, “I know it sounds a little worrying but if we take the long route, we’ll be walking for days before we can find a safe crossing to the other side of the river.” He too then turned to Grimmbros who looked scornful at the thought of days of walking just to avoid a bridge.

Grimm hadn’t really thought too deeply about how long this would take. Something drove him onward, set matters right with that beest, retrieve the device and...

Fürgůïn went on, “Besides, Grimm here will tell you that oafes are no match for urgh-banes. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, they usually run away at the sight of an urgh-bane. Isn’t that right Grimmbros? An oafe is no match for you, is he?”

Grimmbros paused for a moment and carefully adjusted his beret before replying, “One is not always accustomed to perchance upon a meeting with monstrous creatures of the sort being described, but yes - I would agree that an urgh-bane’s higher intellect as well as his distinguished breeding and general superiority over all brutish races - including oafes - reveals that we, as a species, are equipped and able, if called upon and if required, to remove the front teeth from such upstart creatures with the use of fisted objects and send them backwards and downwards via the oesophagus of such bullying individuals described. Not that we approve of such actions, but we are ready and able if the battle cry is sounded, to leap into action.”

Razzles and Fürgůïn stood silent for a moment trying to take in the sudden stream of verbiage that issued forth from Grimmbros’ mouth in place of a simple ‘yes’.

Neither were really sure as to what he had said exactly, and the nervous knohm didn’t know whether he should feel encouraged or not.

“What? What are you talking about? What do you mean Grimmbros?” Razzles demanded, his state of anxious perplexity making it difficult to grasp head or tail of the situation. Fürgůïn quickly interjected in an attempt to bring some calm, “It’s alright Razzles, what Grimmbros is trying to say is that we have no reason to worry. Grimmbros can take care of any oafe if one decides to make an appearance.”

Then, flinging back his black cloak in a further show of confidence, Fürgůïn calmly continued, “Besides, I can always check if one’s lurking on the bridge before we cross.” The renling raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips a couple times to indicate that he was referring to his well-tested tactical tool, the 'Renic Whistle’.

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Missing the significance, Razzles was about to respond, when at that moment, Fürgůïn let out a high-pitched squeal that was as far from a beautifully sounded ‘whistle’ as could be. It was a barely controlled whine of a whistle and was the worst noise, by far, that Grimmbros and Razzles had ever had the misfortune to behold. It was a wonder that anyone would ever wish to make that sound twice in their lifetime, let alone take pride in it.

The deranged shriek leaped forward with an aggressive determination and verve which resonated against the trees – abusing them and shaking leaves from their quivering branches; through the air – fouling it, and chasing off all manner of flying creatures within its range. It swept across, past the bridge, grating it - scaring the ancient mortar between the bricks, causing it to jump suicidally into the river below. Grimmbros' teeth ached. The anything-but-melodious whistle seemingly undulated back and forth between them and the bridge whilst increasing in volume and intensity.

It was unlike anything that Grimmbros and Razzles had heard before, and would ever want to hear again. And even though they never spoke of it, they secretly marvelled that a race of creatures, so small, could craft such an awful racket, so loudly, and far into the future from that day, they wondered at Fürgůïn’s mastery of that arcane art. Then, rather abruptly, the 'whistle' stopped, Fürgůïn spun around, smiling at them and remarked, “There you are. “What did I tell you? Nothing to worry about. Come on, let’s get moving.”

Razzles was tempted to question the renling as to how exactly he knew that, but his still-quivering ears were ringing and he felt it was perhaps improper to challenge the credibility of the ‘Renic Whistle’, after all, it was ‘tried and tested’ and it was clear that nothing, that was not stone deaf, would willingly remain within earshot of that obnoxious siren - even an idiot knew that - and Razzles didn’t want to look any more idiotic than circumstances required of him. Still, he gazed long and hard at the many-arched structure before them with its low dwelling-tower in the centre. It didn't look deserted. It looked distinctly lived-in.

As they approached the bridge-crossing, Fürgůïn walked cautiously forward a few paces before stopping and turning around to whisper to the other two.

“I think we should cross one at a time. The bridge looks old and might be a bit weak in some places to take all our weight at once." He gave a significant glance in Grimmbros' direction at this point before continuing, "I’ll go first - it’s best that you both stay out of sight until I’m safely over the other side. There are no oafes in sight but we don’t want to draw any undue attention. Best to be safe.”

Before anybody could say anything, he was gone, carrying a big bunch of stinging nettles in his hand. Grimmbros was fully alert now and looking suspicious. His past experience as Chicken Scratching Champion had taught him always to expect the unexpected and to keep focused on possible strategies and escape routes. After all, one does not become a champion if one does not plan for the uninevitable: challenge and confrontation. His left hand unconsciously sought out his underpants, they were somewhat loose now around the waistband, following yesterday's serious stretching by that beest. He could feel a draft. It was not that he didn’t trust Fürgůïn and his legendary ‘Renic Whistle’, it was just that he wasn’t too sure how it worked and so couldn’t feel entirely sure of the possible outcomes of this matter.

He and Razzles waited quietly for a few minutes - but they seemed like hours. Razzles was becoming twitchy and kept jumping from one foot to another setting his various bells a-jingle.*

*For knohms, the small bells on their attire are more than mere decoration; they signal social status. A clear chime indicates refinement and good breeding, while a dull jingle suggests a poor upbringing. Razzles generally keeps immaculate bells, tolerating nothing less than a perfect ring in the note of B sharp.

See endnote #2

“Psssst! What do we do now Grimmbros? Shall we follow him?” whispered the knohm when he couldn’t bear the silence anymore. A nervous tic was developing on his cheek, making him wink slightly with one eye at irregular intervals. He didn’t want to prolong this agony and so was desperate to get across to the other side of the bridge quickly. He reached an unsteady hand inside his tunic and fingered his mouse for a bit of extra courage.

With a magnanimous, calm tone, Grimm bent to look his skittish little companion in the eye, saying, “Listen here my little man, one does not know what dangers one must face through the stormy twists and the tempestuous, turns encountered in this journey that is life. One must search deep within one's self and find a stronger, nobler self. Only then, can one overcome the battles that lie deep within... only then, can one overcome the tussles that await yonder and beyond, only then, can one...”

Razzles involuntarily winked a couple of times, his left eyelid fluttering intermittently, becoming increasingly jittery.

"...look beyond oneself and take the daunting steps that lead ever onward..."

The nervy knohm's facial spasms began to get the better of him, involving his nose too now, as Grimmbros built to a crescendo of rhetorical rapture, "...upward, forward in pursuit of one's..."

Looking like a sleep-deprived rabbit trying to blink a morse code message to someone in a hurry, Razzles was obviously approaching breaking point. His nostrils were twitching up and down and a single vein was beginning to stand up and pulse on his forehead. He twisted his beard absently around a finger.

Grimmbros was oblivious: “...most coveted desideratum, one's highest aspiration, one's...”

“Oh, shut-up,” interrupted Razzles, more forcefully than he had intended, “I get it...I’m off! Rather die over there than die over here listening to this endless verbosity.” Razzles had had more than enough and scurried along the bridge, passing through the arch in the middle, carefully avoiding the crumbling stonework that Fürgůïn had alluded to earlier.

Grimmbros was now left on his own. He listened attentively for a few minutes and thought that he could hear muted conversation on the other side of the bridge but couldn’t quite make out what was being said. Then suddenly, it went quiet. Grimm waited for a few more minutes before deciding to proceed. “My little wanna-be friends enjoying some frivolous frivolity whilst they await my appearance,” he happily concluded. Adjusting his beret again, he strode onto the bridge. The masonry below gave a creaking groan and he found himself wondering if it could carry his weight.

Nevertheless, he was sure-footed and steady. The sun was shining down on him through the green canopy above and gave the appearance of a great warrior entering into battle, a great champion, a hero, a celebrity urgh-bane who had rightly earned his stripes on the playing fields of Tullgotha. He later commented how that brief stroll along the toll bridge had reminded him of his younger days when he had ‘proved his age’ at his ‘Chakarava (‘That which nobody knows, that which nobody has seen or will see, that cannot be known by any who are not Chakarava”.’)

Grimmbros neared the central passageway of the bridge, cautious but not afraid. As he stepped into the shadow of the arch, a thunderous voice penetrated the silence, “WHO GOES THERE? FRIEND OR FOE?”