Stomper leaned back against a tree causing it to groan in protest. He paid it no mind, most trees were whiners and took much more effort to truly break unless they were young and skinny. He wasn’t in the mood for any tree breaking. Instead he wanted to sit and think, something that usually left him sweaty and frustrated.

A human skull sat next to him, a remnant of fight from a few years ago. Wild animals and insects had picked it clean. He scooped it up and found that it easily fit into the palm of his hand. Rubbing his thumb over the ridges, he followed the contours. There was no sign of the skull’s body.

How did one measure happiness? He liked fighting and loving. He loved to eat. Would any of that change with a new ogress in his life? What if she didn’t like sucking the marrow from bones, or worse, what if she liked it too much? Argh.

He breathed a mournful sigh into the air. Nothing was easy. A sharp cracking sound shot through the air—the skull had shattered inside a fist he didn’t remember making.