Old Man Tiber was a troll, but not a scary one. He lived under the Whispering Bridge, and most trolls liked to grumble and collect shiny pebbles. Tiber liked to collect…lost things. Lost buttons, lost feathers, lost dreams – he tried to find a good home for everything. But his youngest troll, Bramble, was different. Bramble wasn’t very good at ‘trolling’. He didn’t like grumbling, he didn’t care for pebbles, and he certainly didn’t look like the other trolls. He was small, with bright blue eyes and a patch of wildflowers growing in his hair.
The other young trolls teased Bramble. “Look at Bramble, the flower troll!” they’d shout. “He’s too bright! He’s too…nice!” Bramble would try to join their games of ‘hide the traveler’s boot’ (a very trollish game), but he always tripped over his own feet or accidentally helped the traveler find their boot. He felt very sad and often hid amongst the ferns near the bridge.
One evening, Old Man Tiber noticed Bramble was particularly glum. “What troubles you, little sprout?” he asked, his voice like rumbling stones. Bramble explained about the teasing and how he didn’t fit in. Tiber chuckled, a sound like pebbles tumbling down a hill. “Fitting in isn’t always the most important thing, Bramble. Sometimes, being different is what makes you special.”
Just then, a tiny voice cried out. “Help! Help!” It was Lumi, a firefly, and she was frantic. “The Gloom has come! It’s stolen all the fireflies’ glow! We can’t light the way for the lost travelers anymore!” The Gloom was a shadowy mist that sometimes drifted through the forest, dimming everything it touched.
The other young trolls scoffed. “Fireflies? What do we care about fireflies? They aren’t shiny pebbles!” But Bramble’s blue eyes lit up. He remembered how lost and dim *he* felt when he was sad. He knew he had to help. “I’ll help!” he declared.
Old Man Tiber smiled. “The Gloom hates brightness, Bramble. Perhaps your…unique glow can help.” Bramble, remembering the wildflowers in his hair, realized Tiber was right. He wasn’t good at being a ‘normal’ troll, but maybe his difference could be a strength. He ran into the forest, calling out to the fireflies.
“Follow me!” he shouted, and the fireflies, though dim, fluttered after him. Bramble led them to a hidden meadow filled with moonpetal flowers, which bloomed only at night and glowed with a soft, silvery light. He encouraged the fireflies to gather around the flowers, absorbing their gentle glow.
As the fireflies absorbed the moonpetal’s light, they began to shine brighter and brighter. Bramble, with the wildflowers in his hair, seemed to glow along with them. The combined light pushed back the Gloom, chasing it away from the forest. The fireflies, their glow restored, zipped and zoomed, lighting up the path for any lost travelers.
The other young trolls, witnessing this, were amazed. They had never seen anything so beautiful. They apologized to Bramble for teasing him. “You were right to help,” one of them admitted. “Being different isn’t bad. It’s…amazing!”
Bramble smiled, his heart full. He learned that night that being himself, even if it meant being different, was the best thing he could be. And Old Man Tiber, watching from under the Whispering Bridge, knew that even the littlest troll could make the biggest difference, especially when he used his kindness to help others. Now close your eyes, little one, and remember that *you* are special, just the way you are.