"Ford."

"What's that?" The Troll demand. "Wha' are you on about now?"

"It's ford the river. Forging the river would mean grabbing it between a pair of tongs and beating it repeatedly with a hammer. If you're a man that's able to build a bridge from nought but river stones, you should know that. I have no plan to beat this river into a sword! It's foolishness."

The Troll huffed, casting his gaze about in the manner of a man convinced he was the butt of a prank. Then he scratched his head. "I s'pose that's true. Consider me corrected."

The bog poor traveling artist smiled a mouth of cracked, blackened teeth, and held out his hand. "That will be two coins for the grammar lesson."

"What?! That's robbery!"

"First of all, calling it 'robbery' is unfounded." The artist huffed out a rotten breath. "And I find it hurtful. Second, I put a great many years into mastering the English language, and great expense in reading every book I could put my hands on. Therefore, it's quite reasonable to charge a rate when I educate others on the proper usage of grammar. Just the same as you claim for crossing your bridge."

The Troll scoffed and scratched at his head, but then realized that to a degree the man was correct, and if he agreed, then the man agreed to pay his toll. That would resolve the whole confusion. But still, the whole thing bothered him.

"I still don't agree on two coins. Even I only charge one coin to cross my bridge!"

The Artist crossed his arms over his swollen gut and squinted down at the Troll, ascertaining the width and breadth of the being, right up until his floppy hat sagged down into his eyes. He pushed it back, and from beneath the hat was revealed a most revolting smile.

"I see where our confusion lies, friend troll. If I gave you a coin to cross your bridge, I would only be crossing it this one time, correct? Odds are good we'll never cross paths again. As a man in search of continuous education, I won't be back to these parts."

"That may be so..." The Troll grudgingly agreed.

"And if that's so, my coin only gets me use of your bridge, this one time, yes?"

"Well, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

The Artist raised a finger in the air, pointing toward the sky as if revealing a great mystery of life. "Next time someone scoffs at your toll, what will you say? That they should forge the river? Or ford the river? To ford is to cross, while to forge is to beat."

"Well, ford the river, now that I know better..." The Troll muttered sheepishly.

"And rightly so! You'll be using my lesson the rest of your life!"

The Troll, unable to find a fault in that logic, handed over two coins from the meager pouch on his belt. The Artist put the both into the fat pouch on his, and then summarily removed one coin to return it to the Troll. It was even one of the Troll's own coins.

"And there. The toll is paid! I shall have my coin's worth and pass!" The Artist proclaimed with a smug laugh.

And having eyed the Artist's fat pouch of coin, the Troll retrieved a broad wooden club from beside the bridge and set about beating down the Artist, until the man was as limp as a rag on the ground. He continued until the coins were scattered about, glistening in the early morning sun, and the Artist was himself a work of great impressionism. The Troll kept on till nearly midday, stamping and stomping, smashing and crashing.

Finally, fully spent, the Troll leaned on his club. "To ford is to cross, while to forge is to beat." He repeated before scooping up the Artist's fat purse. "But I should have my money back, because you sir do not appear to be a sword."