The Troll Toll Bridge

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Prompt from the "Kev's Odyssey" series.

“Ey-oop Grav.”
“Hey up, Martin.” The troll spoke the greeting with ponderous care.
Slow and methodical folks, trolls. Not exactly sparkling conversationalists. But on the other hand, nobody could beat them at dry stone construction.
Just imagine humans building a beaut like this! You couldn’t. Everywhere else on the river it was ford, ferry, or nowt. Couldn’t dream of bridging the stretch with a mountain of wood and mortar and the best stone the squire could buy. But here…
Some swore it was magic. Maybe they were right. Either way, it was a massive convenience.
Martin realised he was just staring at the bridge and shook himself. “Er, sorry.”
“Good work, yes?” Gravant grinned. Bursting with family pride.
“Amazing work. Every time I come through I can’t hardly believe it’s real.”
“Four hundred years of real.” Gravant patted a bridge cap like a faithful dog. “Helmsworth?”
“Hm? Oh, aye, I’m headed t’ market.” Martin jerked a thumb at his heavily leaden cart. “Been a great summer for milk. Hoping to get a good packet put away afore the cold.”
Gravant nodded politely. Being covered with thick bristly fur as they were, trolls probably didn’t understand the fuss everyone made about winter. But they knew it was a major concern for their neighbours and took pains to wish you well during harvest. “Clear day. Good travel.”
“Aye, here’s hoping it holds. Now…” Martin fished out the prepared bundle. “This worth tuppence to ya?”
Gravant inspected the small wheel of sheep’s cheese. He inhaled deeply, then gave a slow blink and a long low hum of appreciation. “Much better than tuppence. Tasty, tasty.”
“Ah, well.” Martin flapped a hand, struggling to hide his proud grin. “Been a fine summer, as I said.”
He might have waffled more, but from the sharp whistles he could hear on the road behind someone was bringing a herd through. And he didn’t want poor Bramble getting mobbed halfway across by goats or the like! So he tugged on the donkey’s rein and they started forward.
The first few times he crossed he’d been anxious. But then, he’d been a wee lad on his first trips to market, and nearabout everything had been strange and disquieting. This, however, the long gentle curve cresting high above the river… he remembered it vividly.
Well, mostly he remembered squashing his face into a sack and his father assuring him all would be well.
Which it had been, o’course. This marvel could handle far more than one cart, and the trolls would never allow a load which they feared might strain the bridge. This was their heritage and livelihood; they took it very seriously.
Ah, and over! So much faster and cheaper than the ferry, quicker even than walking the ford, and closer than either. A right blessing, it was.
He nodded to the other guard. “Ey-oop, Hol.”
“Hey up, Martin.” Holtha said politely, turning her head to blink at him. “Good travels.”
“Thanks to you folks!”
The young troll beamed.

Prompt was “Bridge”.