Nyamda took three steps back to observe carefully and in all its fullness the cyclopean and repulsive creature that stood in front of her eyes blocking the stony path. The magnitude of that gigantic mole eclipsed the sky and its shadow covered the grove like an impenetrable mantle.
Terrified, dozens of small creatures, hitherto hidden in the undergrowth, ran from here to there fleeing in terror towards the edges of the road, trying, unsuccessfully, to escape from that unfathomable blackness.
Running and escaping from that gross ambush might seem the most sensible. Presumably the body mass of that creature would make him slow and clumsy, or at least that is what hundreds of unsuspecting hunters had thought before perishing with their skulls crushed under his implacable and brutal embrace.
Nyamda had neither space nor time for doubt. Every tenth of a second was vital to balance the fight. A single failure, a tiny mistake and she would get a safe and direct trip only one way to reign of death and she was not willing to do so. There was still too much at stake, one way or another she had to finish her quest.
Slowly she slid her graceful little hand into her clothes and tried to reach the object she was hiding, safely, in her inner pocket. A strong and foul snort from one of the beast’s heads, discovered Nyamda’s face that was hidden under a wide hood. Her albino hair waved furiously at the wave caused by the putrid breath of the troll.
The three pairs of amber eyes of that abomination sizzled furiously like flames fanned by visceral hatred and murderer and one of his monstrous claws shot towards the little faun that was almost motionless in front of the three-headed giant .
Quick as the sparkle, almost miraculously, she managed to get away from the deadly strike and with an almost feline agility she threw herself propelled backwards while she was right to take out her little willow wooden flute, just in time before the creature entirely chopped off one of the trees on the sidewalk.
Again, with an impossible jump, she climbed to the top of a large granite rock nearby and began to blow very lightly into the mouthpiece of her peculiar instrument. A soft and cadentious melody immediately began to flow from the strange wooden flute.
That gigantic three-headed troll did not seem to enjoy the tune because once again, enraged and fueled by a rage that burned from the depths of his insides, he struck the little faun blinded by a wild fury.
Nyamda, still immutable, continued with her merry tune. Something changed in those hundredths of a second, just a meter from her position the gigantic troll – just a moment before a vile and bustling mass of anger and revenge – he was now staggered like a baby that is just learning to walk …