Bill the gnome spent his days wandering the forests, alone (unless you count wild animals as company…). Had he any normal friends, he’d be a social drunk, so perhaps it’s for the best that he had no one to call a friend; besides, nobody likes a drunk gnome. When Bill wasn’t wandering, he was fishing for bugs, farming, ranching, swimming, meditating, or carving. Bill had a knack for carving figures and furniture, so, besides his meager mattresses and snacks, he had plenty of beautifully carved benches lying around his yard, patio, and foyer, plus a few handsome (and comfortable) armchairs in his den. Had he the connections, Bill could have started up a quite prosperous furniture company; but, alas, he was a gnome who was poor and had no friends. Besides, even if he had connections, he was too small to make chairs that were large enough to be put to practical use.
One day, while strolling through the forest, Bill came upon a fox caught in a hunter’s trap. “Help me!” cried the fox, “This trap has cut straight into my leg and shattered my femur! Oh, for the love of god somebody help me!”
Bill the gnome cocked his head at the fox and watched him curiously for a moment then continued on.
“Oh, you bastard!” screamed the fox. “Get your tiny ass back here and help me!”
Bill wasn’t normally inclined to acts of benevolence, but the fox was persistent. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, “hold on.”
“Ohdeargodsomebodyhelpme!!!”
I said hold on!” shouted Bill as he slowly walked toward the trapped animal.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” the fox hissed through clenched teeth, “bu-Yaaaaaaaaaaahh!!!” The fox screeched and yowled and jumped and shook wildly as Bill hopped onto its bloody, ruined thigh.
“Shut up,” Bill growled, “and hold still. This is going to hurt.”
At that point Bill whipped out his handy dandy axe and hacked it deep into the fox’s leg. The animal howled and yelped as Bill chopped furiously at its leg, whistling the whole while he worked. As the last of the gore that had been flung from the last scene’s mutilation fell to earth, Bill hopped down and walked over to the fox’s head. Its eyes rolled and its tongue lolled in its mouth as the pain it just endured brought on shock, but Bill, ever the resourceful gnome, backhanded it back to awareness. “Wha juhs happin’d, misr nome?” the dazed creature asked.
“Well,” Bill replied cheerfully, “I just hacked off your leg so you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of gnawing it off. But don’t worry; you don’t have to thank me.”
The fox stared back at him hazily for a moment, and then sobered up violently. “What do you mean, ‘thank you?’” it screamed, “You just cut off my freaking leg! Why didn’t you just pry open the trap, for god’s sake!?”
“Hmmph,” Bill grunted angrily, strolling away, “no one appreciates a favor anymore I guess.”
The fox slowly tried to hobble after the escaping little person, but was too weak and unused to having only three legs to give chase. “I’ll get you,” it screamed, “mark my words, little man! I will hunt you down and tear you apart, limb from limb!”
“Oh piss off, troll,” Bill muttered.