Deep within a lush valley, nestled between rolling hills, ran a sparkling stream. The only way to cross this stream was by traversing a rickety old bridge, guarded by a grumpy troll with an insatiable appetite for goat meat. Three billy goats, all brothers, lived on the other side of the stream. Each, for their own reason, needed to cross the bridge.
The first billy goat, the tiniest of the three with a coat the color of freshly fallen snow, approached the bridge one sunny morning. His heart thumped in his chest as he saw the enormous troll looming large under the bridge. “Who dares trespass on my bridge?” boomed the troll’s voice, echoing across the valley.
The little goat, his voice trembling slightly, squeaked, “It’s just me, Mr. Troll. I need to cross the bridge to reach the fresh meadows on the other side.” The troll’s eyes gleamed. “Only one way across,” he growled, “you become my breakfast!” The little goat, despite his fear, wasn’t about to give up.
Taking a deep breath, he bleated, “But Mr. Troll, surely you wouldn’t want to eat such a scrawny little goat like me? My brother is coming soon, and he’s much bigger and juicier!” The troll, intrigued by the prospect of a larger meal, paused for a moment. “Very well,” he grumbled, “let your brother come. But if he’s not bigger, you’ll both be my breakfast!”
The little goat, his heart pounding with relief, scampered across the bridge and disappeared into the meadows on the other side. Soon, the sound of heavy hooves clopping on the bridge announced the arrival of the middle brother. This goat, with a coat the color of rich, dark chocolate, was much larger than the first.
“Who dares disturb my slumber?” the troll roared from beneath the bridge. The middle goat, much braver than his younger brother, bellowed, “It is I, the middle billy goat! And I demand passage across your bridge!” The troll’s eyes gleamed once more. “Only one way across,” he echoed, “you become my lunch!”
The middle goat, unfazed by the troll’s threat, retorted, “Don’t be silly, Mr. Troll! My brother is coming right behind me, and he’s twice my size! You wouldn’t want to miss out on him, would you?” The troll, lured by the promise of an even bigger feast, grumbled and allowed the middle goat to cross.
Finally, the sound of thunderous hooves shook the bridge as the eldest brother, sporting a majestic coat the color of freshly fallen snow, approached. This goat was by far the largest and strongest of the three. “Halt!” roared the troll, his voice laced with a hint of nervousness. “The bridge is closed!” The eldest brother, with a booming voice that echoed through the valley, declared, “I am the eldest billy goat, and I will not be stopped!”
The troll, intimidated by the enormous size of this goat, stammered, “B-but the bridge can only hold one goat at a time! And you’ll be too big for my lunch!” The eldest billy goat, with a mischievous glint in his eye, snorted. “Lunch? You wouldn’t dare try to eat me, you overgrown wart!”
Before the troll could react, the eldest billy goat charged with all his might. The bridge creaked and groaned under his weight, but it held. The troll, terrified by the sheer force of the goat, scurried under the bridge and hid in a dark, dank hole. The eldest billy goat crossed the bridge with a triumphant bleat, his two brothers rushing to greet him.
Together, the three billy goats rejoiced in their victory over the grumpy troll. They feasted in the lush meadows on the other side, forever bonded by their shared experience and the courage they had displayed in the face of danger. The troll, forever scared, never dared bother anyone who crossed the bridge again. This tale became a legend, a reminder that even the smallest of creatures can overcome a bully with bravery and a little wit.
