On a crisp Autumn evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and a hush settled over the grounds of Rufflets, young Isla and her brother Jock crept out from their Woodland Suite. They’d heard whispers of the Ruffleskoggen Trolls, tales told by their grandmother who claimed she’d once glimpsed a tiny, shadowy figure vanish beneath a tree trunk. The idea that trolls might still be hiding nearby was irresistible, especially for two adventurous souls with a keen eye for all things mysterious.
Armed with a small flashlight and Isla’s worn notebook, where she recorded “Unsolved Mysteries,” the siblings tiptoed over the bridge into the heart of Rufflets’ enchanted woodland. The path twisted and turned, taking them through thick clusters of trees, their leaves rustling as though whispering secrets to the night.
“What are we even looking for?” Jock whispered, trying to sound brave.
“Footprints,” Isla replied, squinting at the ground. “Or maybe, if we are lucky, we’ll see one of their little hats sticking up from behind a tree.”
Suddenly, there was a faint giggle, so soft they almost missed it. Isla’s eyes widened, and she nudged Jock, both holding their breath as they scanned the trees around them. And then, there it was again—a high-pitched giggle, followed by a rustle of leaves to their left.
“Did you hear that?” Jock asked, his voice barely a whisper. They turned their flashlight toward the sound, illuminating the base of a tall, ancient purple beech. There, peeking out from behind the tree, was a tiny figure with a mischievous grin, a shock of greenish hair, and a glint in its eye.
Isla gasped. “A troll! A real troll!”
The troll, no taller than Isla’s knee, wore a rough little tunic stitched from leaves and moss. His eyes twinkled with a knowing gleam, and he held a small beech nut in his hand. With a wink, he tossed the acorn, which bounced across the path and landed at Jock’s feet. Before they could even blink, the troll dashed away, disappearing into a thicket of brambles.
“Come on!” Isla urged, grabbing Jock’s hand. They pushed through the brambles, stumbling onto a clearing bathed in moonlight. The scene before them was enchanting: a group of trolls, all gathered in a circle, their small forms illuminated by the silvery light filtering through the Scots pines. They laughed and danced, spinning in circles with tiny, handmade instruments, filling the night with a strange, joyful music.
One of the trolls—a bit taller than the others, with a long white beard and a wise expression—looked up and caught Isla’s eye. He didn’t seem surprised to see them; instead, he gave a slow nod, as if welcoming them to their world, if only for a moment.
Jock, in awe, whispered, “Do you think they know we’re here?”
As Isla and Jock looked on in awe, their eyes adjusted to the moonlit clearing, allowing them to take in the unique and curious appearances of each troll in the gathering. There were seven trolls in total, each with a distinct personality that seemed to match their quirky features.
First, there was Krumpl, a stout troll with a round belly and a beaming smile. His hair was a wild tangle of twigs and moss, almost like a bird’s nest. He clutched a small, hand-carved drum that he patted in rhythm with the music, his chubby fingers bouncing off the taut hide with surprising grace.
Next to Krumpl was Mossletta, a tiny, sprightly troll no taller than a toadstool, with big, expressive eyes and a tunic made from layers of soft green moss. Mossletta’s hair glowed with a faint silvery sheen, and she moved with a lightness that made her almost invisible, flickering between shadows. She carried a reed flute, which she played with delicate fingers, weaving haunting melodies that danced in the air.
Beside Mossletta stood Bruska, a tall, lean troll with spindly arms and legs that seemed too long for his body. He had a thick thatch of reddish-brown hair that framed his face like a lion’s mane and held a bundle of leafy branches in his hands. Bruska was in charge of rustling the leaves in rhythm, creating a sound that blended with the whispering trees. His face was serious and thoughtful, his eyes focused intently on the music, giving him an air of mystery.
Near Bruska was Trivken, a shy and quiet troll with large, round spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. His clothes were stitched from odd scraps of fabric, and he clutched a small, leather-bound book that he occasionally glanced at, as if checking notes on the music. Trivken had an intelligent gleam in his eyes and a cautious smile, suggesting he was the clan’s wise keeper of knowledge and lore.
Then there was Piffa, a plump, merry troll with rosy cheeks and a necklace made of wild berries. She hummed along to the music and clapped her hands to the beat, her laughter bright and contagious. Her presence was warm and comforting, like a cosy fire in a quiet forest. Piffa’s laughter was the giggle that had drawn Isla and Jock into the clearing, and she seemed delighted by the children’s curiosity.
On the other side of the circle sat Snorli, a grumpy, older troll with a long, wispy beard that nearly reached the ground. Snorli wore a woolly cap that drooped over one ear, and he grumbled under his breath whenever a leaf from Bruska’s bundle flew his way. But, even with his gruff appearance, there was a softness in his eyes, as though he enjoyed the music in his own quiet way.
Lastly, beside Snorli, was Glimma, the most radiant of them all, with shimmering, translucent skin that caught the moonlight and made her seem almost ethereal. Glimma wore a garland of tiny white flowers around her neck, and her voice was soft and melodic as she sang in harmony with Mossletta’s flute. Her expression was gentle and kind, and she seemed to be the heart of the gathering, keeping the group in sync with her quiet presence.
As Isla and Jock watched, their eyes moved from one troll to the next, taking in the unique traits of each member of this ancient clan. Then, Storvinter, the elder troll, with his long white beard and wise eyes, raised his hand, and in a flash, the music stopped.
Silence fell over the clearing as the trolls turned to face the two children. Storvinter took a step forward, extending his hand, and as Isla reached out to meet it, a gentle warmth flowed through her fingers—a warmth that felt like an old memory, a long-forgotten dream. A kind of deeper knowing permeated her entire inner self.
Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the trolls scattered, vanishing into the bracken, leaving only a faint trail of footprints that glowed briefly in the moonlight before fading.
When Isla and Jock found their way back to the woodland suite, Isla opened her notebook to record the encounter. But as she tried to write, she realised she didn’t need to. The memory was etched into her mind in a way she knew would never fade. They had seen the Ruffleskoggen Trolls, just as their grandmother had all those years ago.
And though they knew no one might believe them, they didn’t mind. Some things were better kept as secrets between the woods and the lucky few who dared to look closer.
The Ruffleskoggen Companion
Bruska
The Leaf-Rustler
Tall and lean with a mane of wild, reddish-brown hair, Bruska is the serious one. He rustles branches and leaves to create rhythms for the music. Although he rarely smiles, his deep eyes hold ancient mysteries of the woodland.
Glimma
The Enchanted Singer
Glimma shines like a ray of moonlight, with shimmering skin and a garland of tiny white flowers. Her voice is soft and magical, adding harmony to the troll music. Glimma’s kindness binds the trolls together like the roots of an old tree.
Krumpl
The Drummer
A round and jolly troll, Krumpl loves nothing more than a good beat! His hair is tangled with twigs and moss, and his chubby fingers dance over his drum like leaves in the wind. Krumpl’s laugh is as booming as his drum.
Mossletta
The Flute Player
Tiny and light on her feet, Mossletta moves like a forest sprite, blending into shadows and moonlight. With her silvery hair and flute made of reeds, she fills the night with haunting melodies. If you blink, you might miss her!
Piffa
The Laughing Heart
Warm and merry, Piffa’s laughter echoes through the trees, filling the woods with joy. She wears a necklace of berries and loves to clap along with the music. With her rosy cheeks and happy spirit, Piffa brings smiles to every troll.
Snorli
The Grumbler
Though he looks grumpy, with his long, wispy beard and woolly cap, Snorli has a soft spot for his troll friends. His grumbles are often about leaves in his beard or stray brambles, but his heart is as big as any troll’s.
Storvinter
The Wise Elder
Storvinter, the leader of the Ruffleskoggen Trolls from Östra Lagnö on the island of Ljusterö, is as ancient and mighty as winter itself. His long, white beard and wise eyes reveal secrets of old magic. He guides the trolls with kindness and strength, a true guardian of the forest.
Trivken
The Scholar
Quiet and thoughtful, Trivken is the wise keeper of troll knowledge. His round spectacles and patchwork clothes give him a gentle look. He always carries his small, leather-bound book, full of notes and old troll tales.
When you stay in one of Rufflets’ woodland suites, remember: if you spot a faint trail of glowing footprints or hear a giggle in the shadows, you may just be close to meeting one!
