It was raining in Vanhoover. As the train rounded the hill, Nut heard a soft gasp from his ward. The long ride had given him plenty of time for internal debate, and he still hadn’t come to a suitable conclusion as to what she was to him. She had cried a great deal during this trip, great and terrible sobs that at times, seemed without end, and in witnessing her profound misery, his relationship with her kept shifting. 

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Very well then, I shall reveal my secrets to you. If you insist.

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Bone litter. Nut levitated the fragments of bone and squinted through his monocle so that he might have a better look. There were places where the bone had been scraped by small, hard teeth. Trolls had teeth, teeth made from what appeared to be wood with remarkable hardness and density. Craftsponies made things from troll teeth, a practice that Nut found rather ghastly, but he could not deny that self-repairing hardwoods and such had a certain appeal. 

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The moon rose, glorious and full, and its light would be a boon this even. Nut had already set up a place to watch atop the water tower and everything was good to go. He even had an assistant, something he found that he’d never really needed before, but he found the idea appealing. Miss Blossom was bright, curious, and eager. 

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