A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

"You know, Agnos, I'm starting to think you're enjoying this far too much," I muttered, glancing at the purple cat perched on my shoulder.

His golden eyes sparkled with barely contained mischief, his tongue clicking now and then as if holding back laughter.

Agnos, of course, didn't reply. He rarely spoke when he could let me fumble through life for his entertainment.

But the glint in his eyes said it all. He was having a blast watching me squirm.

Our situation wasn't exactly comedy gold, though. Standing at the gates of Troll City—or as I was starting to call it, The Fortress of Miscommunication—I found myself faced with a daunting language barrier.

Towers of stone loomed over us, their jagged edges cutting into the sky like some ancient deity's teeth. Massive trolls with skin like cracked granite and eyes like molten gold glared down at us from their posts.

One of the guards, a particularly burly troll with a jagged tusk jutting out from his lower jaw, rumbled something in a tone that could only be described as "subwoofer meets avalanche."

It vibrated through my chest, rattling my bones in a way that made me consider cutting caffeine out of my diet—assuming I survived this encounter.

"Did you get any of that?" I whispered to our guide, a burly Norfolk man whose name I still couldn't pronounce. It sounded like someone sneezing while gargling gravel.

The guide scratched the back of his head, looking every bit as clueless as I felt. "Not… precisely. We think they're asking who we are, but it's hard to say."

"Didn't you bring a translator?"

"Oh, we have those," he said, laughing nervously. "But they don't always work. Last time we used one, it translated 'hello' as 'I challenge your honor,' and the poor messenger ended up in the hospital."

"Great," I muttered. "So we're standing here, about to get pulverized by Stonehenge's bigger cousins, with no way to communicate and no backup plan. Fantastic."

The troll's deep growl rumbled again, this time accompanied by a slow, menacing tilt of his head. I could practically feel the countdown to being squished like a bug.

"Maybe we should come back another time?" I suggested, edging backward.

Before I could retreat any further, our guide did something that, to this day, I still can't decide was brave, stupid, or both. He pulled out a white handkerchief and waved it in front of the trolls like a surrender flag.

For a moment, I thought we were done for. The troll guard's eyes narrowed, his massive hand tightening around the hilt of a weapon that looked like it could double as a battering ram.

Then, to my utter disbelief, he gave a dismissive wave and rumbled something that sounded vaguely like, "Wrong place. Leave."

I stared at our guide, dumbfounded. "What just happened?"

He offered a sheepish smile. "That's a signal all trolls understand. It basically means, 'Oops, wrong place. We're leaving now!'"

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Hey, at least they understood us, right?"

Agnos let out a snorting sound that might have been a cat's version of laughter. I shot him a glare, which only seemed to amuse him more.

********

Once we were a safe distance away, I turned to the guide.

"Okay, let's regroup here. If we're going to talk to their chief, we need someone who speaks Trollish. Why didn't the council assign a translator?"

"They did," the guide admitted, "but… he quit after the last mission. Said he'd rather wrestle a sea serpent than deal with trolls again."

I groaned. "Fantastic. So what's the plan? Mime our way through negotiations?"

"Actually, trolls respect dance as a form of communication," the guide said earnestly.

I stared at him. "You're joking."

"Not at all! But it has to be the right kind of dance. If you offend them, well…" He trailed off, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Let me get this straight. To talk to their chief, we either need a translator or we risk a literal dance-off?"

"Pretty much."

Agnos let out another chittering laugh.

"Glad you're enjoying this," I muttered.

Just as I was about to throw in the towel, a voice called out from behind us.

"Err.. Do you guys need a hand?"

We turned to see an unexpected sight: a wiry, weathered man with a mischievous grin and a staff adorned with troll carvings. He looked like he'd spent a lifetime navigating the complexities of troll culture.

"Name's Theodore," he said, offering a hand. "I'm a linguist specializing in Trollish. I was on my way to enter troll city when I heard you guys might need some communication help."

Relief washed over me like a cool breeze. "You're hired. Please tell me you're fluent."

"Fluent enough," he said with a wink. "But fair warning: trolls have a… unique sense of humor. You'll want to tread carefully."

"Noted," I said. "Let's get this show on the road."

With Theodore leading the way, we approached the gates once more.

This time, when the troll guard growled, Theodore responded in kind, his voice rumbling with surprising depth.

The exchange was brief but effective; the gates creaked open, revealing a sprawling courtyard filled with towering stone structures and bustling trolls.

The chief's hall was an imposing building carved directly into the mountain. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of earth and something vaguely metallic.

The chief himself sat on a throne of polished obsidian, his massive frame adorned with intricate stone jewelry. His eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as we entered.

Theodore stepped forward, speaking in Trollish. The chief listened intently, occasionally glancing at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Finally, he rumbled something in reply.

"He wants to know why you're here," Theodore translated.

I took a deep breath. "Tell him I'm here to help resolve the disputes between the trolls and the neighboring communities. We need to find a way to coexist peacefully."

Theodore relayed my message. The chief's response was longer this time, punctuated by a low chuckle that made my stomach drop.

"He says that's all well and good," Theodore said, "but actions speak louder than words. If you want his trust, you'll have to prove yourself."

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" I asked warily.

Theodore's smile turned sheepish. "He… wants you to participate in a troll's rite of passage."

I groaned. "Why do I get the feeling this is going to involve something dangerous?"

"Because it will," Agnos said, speaking up for the first time. His voice was laced with amusement. "But hey, look on the bright side. At least you're good at improvising."

I shot him a glare. "Why did you never give me good advice or at least cheer me on?"

As the chief briefly outlined the details of the challenge, my heart sank.

This wasn't just a test of bravery; it was a test of survival. Judging by the glint in the chief's eyes, he clearly didn't expect me to pass.

Surviving the Fenrir's test? That was the challenge. And really, who didn't know what kind of creature a Fenrir was?

"Fenrir's test, huh?" Agnos voiced, a sly smile spreading across his face. He continued, "Tell the troll chief that if Carl manages to pass it, we request he grant us a favor on top of resolving the dispute." Agnos gestured toward the translator.

The translator hesitated, clearly weighing the risk of offending the chief, before finally relaying the message.

The troll chief's gaze shifted, first locking onto Agnos, then turning to me with an appraising look. After a tense pause, he smiled confidently and nodded.

He then proceeded to say in Trollish that he agreed, but only if I managed to pass the test and bring back proof. After Theodore translated, the chief abruptly shoved a token into my hand.

"He said you need to give this to the manager of the rites of passage," Theodore explained.

"Wait, what? Manager? W-what do you mean—" I stammered, thoroughly confused.

The chief's voice boomed through the hall, his final words echoing like a death knell. Theodore translated with an apologetic shrug.

"He says, 'Let the trial begin.'"

I turned to Agnos, who was grinning like a cat with a canary. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

He didn't bother denying it.

The hall's doors creaked open, revealing a dimly lit cavern filled with… something. I couldn't quite make out what lurked in the shadows, but the low growls and flickers of movement were enough to set every nerve in my body on edge.

"Well," I said, stepping forward. "Here goes nothing."