Bram the troll lived under a mossy bridge, where the river sang “glug-glug” all day long. Bram was not a grumpy troll. He was a cozy troll. He liked warm tea, round stones, and soft socks.
One evening, the sky turned pink like strawberry milk. Bram found a flat rock near his door. On it were tiny marks, neat and curly. Runes.
Bram blinked. “Hello, little lines. What do you say?”
A firefly floated close and winked. “They are runes,” it buzzed. “They can be read.”
Bram felt a small wobble in his tummy. Then he took a slow breath. “I can try.”
He traced the first rune with a gentle finger. It looked like a stick with two arms. “That says… ‘L',” Bram guessed.
The firefly hummed. “Yes. Keep going.”
Bram read the next rune. “I.” Then another. “G.” Then another. “H.” Then another. “T.”
Bram smiled so wide his cheeks puffed. “LIGHT!”
Right away, the rock glowed like a tiny moon. The bridge beams sparkled. The river glittered. Even Bram's socks looked a little brighter.
From the reeds, a small dragon popped up. Not a big dragon. A baby dragon, the size of a loaf of bread. It had buttery-yellow scales and a sneezy nose.
“Achoo!” said the baby dragon. A little puff of warm steam came out, like soup.
“Hi,” Bram said softly. “I'm Bram.”
“I'm Pippin,” said the dragon. “I lost my way to the Lantern Meadow.”
Bram nodded. “We will find it. We will. Hope is like a lantern. It stays on.”
They walked together. Clip-clop went Bram's feet. Tip-tap went Pippin's claws. The firefly danced ahead like a floating dot of gold.
Soon they reached three stones in a row, each with runes. Bram read the first: “THIS.” The second: “WAY.” The third: “FRIENDS.”
Pippin giggled. “The stones are talking!”
Bram chuckled too. “Stones can be kind.”
They followed the runes to a meadow full of lantern flowers. They were blue, green, and honey-orange. A unicorn stood there, calm and shiny, with a mane like soft clouds.
“Welcome,” said the unicorn. “You read the runes. You brought light.”
Pippin gave Bram a warm nuzzle. “You didn't give up.”
Bram felt tall inside. “I just read one rune at a time.”
The lantern flowers swayed, as if saying thank you. The sky turned dark velvet, but the meadow stayed bright.
Later, Bram walked home with the firefly. Under the bridge, the river still sang. Bram placed the glowing rune-stone by his door.
He whispered, “LIGHT,” and the rock answered with a gentle shine.
Bram sipped his tea, snug and safe. Tomorrow had a soft glow in it, and so did he.
