This story took place decades ago. It gives a description of the first time Dínenor was hunting trolls amongst other Dúnedain out in the Trollshaws. The story could be roughly known to rangers originating from the northern Trollshaws.
Dínenor looks up to the sky. It is full of clouds, the moon shafts sparsely through the leaves of the trees. The only light in the deep of the night is coming from three torches.
It is the first time the sixteen-year-old boy is part of a hunting group. In his right hand he bears a sturdy wooden spear with a sharpened metal head, in the left hand the young Dúnadan carries a sword. A group of six rangers, including his father Arangil, stalking south of their encampment.
The young man’s heart starts beating faster as he hears a loud bellow to his left. Branches snap in the nearby bushes as a huge creature bursts the trees.
„Troll! To the left! Fire the arrows!“ Arangil shouts, and the sound of bowstrings intersects the night. While the arrows find their target precisely, the troll roars loudly and approaches its attackers, the rangers leap aside just in time.
„Dínenor, use your spear! Kill it!“ The boy looks at the wooden spear in his right hand and gulps. He quickly draws closer to the troll, but stops as he sees it grabbing one of the fallen trees from the floor, using it as a mace against the Dúnedain-assaulters.
One heavy blow hits the spot where Arangil stood just a few moments before, the earth is shaking. Dínenor firstly looks at his father, then at the troll and embraces the spear. A few swift steps later he faces the troll and hits the beast with a powerful thrust. The troll howls with pain and hits the young ranger with one of his big hands, dashing him into a nearby tree. Dínenors sight gets dark as he passes out for a few moments.
As he opens up his eyes he leaps to his feet and jumps aside while the troll stares at him in anger and rams his huge fist against the tree where the young ranger lay moments before. Dinenor grabs his spear from the ground and glances at the beast before he shouts out and stabs the lance in its chest.
The troll wobbles while groaning, it looks at Dínenor with pained expression and falls to the ground at last. While drawing the spear out of the dead creature‘s chest, the boy takes a deep breath and looks at the other ranger’s faces. His father smiles proudly and claps his son’s back. „You did it, son. You killed it. I am proud of you, and I am sure that this has not been the last troll falling a victim to your blade.“
