Deep in a damp green forest, where the moss clung to every branch and the air smelled like rain and secrets, a troll named Grindlefoot was up to mischief.
He wasn’t a scary troll—just a scruffy one, with bark tangled in his beard and a fondness for shiny things. Every few weeks he’d wander the forest trails, giggling to himself, looking for the perfect hiding spot for his latest game. Humans called them geocaches, though he called them shinytreasure-boxes-for-the-bold.
One misty morning, Grindlefoot found himself under a towering pine tree that leaned over a pond thick with croaking frogs. One particularly loud frog—bright green and bossy—watched him closely from a high branch. “Oi,” croaked the frog, “what are ye doin’ under my tree?”
Grindlefoot grinned, showing teeth like pebbles. “Hidin’ a cache, Tree Frog! A fine one, full o’ trinkets and a logbook for the brave!”
The frog puffed out its throat. “You’ll not be stickin’ it in the mud, will ye? No self-respectin’ cacher’ll want to dig in that muck.”
“Course not!” the troll replied. “I’ll hide it up the tree—where only clever folk will find it!”
And so he climbed, bark scratching his knees, until he reached a thick branch that stretched over the pond. From a small pouch, he pulled a weatherproof container—decorated with a sticker that read “Tree Frog GC”—and tucked it into a hollow knot just out of easy reach.
The frog looked impressed. “Not bad, troll. Not bad at all. You’ll give the humans a right puzzle!”
Grindlefoot nodded proudly. “That’s the plan. Let ’em climb, let ’em scratch their heads, let ’em leap like frogs if they must!”
With a rumbling chuckle, he scrawled the first line in the logbook:
First to hide: Grindlefoot the Troll. Guarded by Tree Frog. Watch yer step, and bring a ladder or pole!
The next day, geocachers wandered into the forest, GPS devices blinking and laughter echoing between the trees. The troll hid nearby, his eyes twinkling beneath a fern.
One by one, they spotted the tree, the pond, and—after much squinting—the tiny hint of a container high above. Cheers filled the air when someone finally retrieved it.
From his hiding spot, Grindlefoot grinned and whispered to the frog, “Another good day for the game.”
The frog croaked in agreement. “Aye. But next time, make ’em work for it, eh?”
And with that, the forest hummed with life again—frogs singing, branches swaying, and a happy troll planning his next mischief.