Tatterhood by Margrete Lamond Page B

are short.’
    Still no reply.
    â€˜Bring me my food!’ shrieked the troll. ‘Hear what I say, or I’ll wake you like you never got woke before, I will!’
    But the girl was as silent as ever.
    Then the troll clean forgot about keeping her sweet. He laid into the straw girl with his boots till the stubble flew; and when he saw the clouds of straw and put one and one together, he lost his temper so badly he almost burst. He went raging through his halls and caverns – crashing and roaring, heaving and smashing – hunting high and low for the girl. Eventually he reached the cellar. There they were, both of the sisters – gone as if they’d never been.
    â€˜So, that’s how it is, is it?’ he shrieked. ‘She’ll pay for this, she will, ungrateful wretch!’
    And, without a thought for the short summer night, the hill-troll was out and on his way to the widder-woman’s hut.
    But the youngest daughter – home with her mother and sisters – had timed it well. No sooner was the troll within sight of the hovel, teeth bared and tail lashing, than the night was good as over. The sky brightened, gold rimmed the tops of the mountains and the troll had to get home again, as fast as he could, if he wanted to stay alive.
    But even as he reached his mountain, the sun came up and shone on his face, sharp and strong, just as the girl had intended.
    And so the hill-troll burst into smithereens.
    As for his silver and gold – hidden away in his mountain halls – there’s enough of it left for us all … if only we knew how to find it!

Whitebear

    Well, there was a time – and there wasn’t a time – and in that time there was a king. He had two daughters who were meaner than trolls, but his third daughter was as sweet as a sunny day, and for that reason everyone loved her.
    She dreamt once, this girl, of a golden wreath, twined and twisted with buds and leaves and nuts and flowers so cleverly made it was hardly true – a golden wreath so rich and round that when she woke up and knew it was only a dream, the princess couldn’t speak for disappointment.
    And when she realised it would never be hers – dream thing that it was – she grew pale and trembling with wishing for what she couldn’t have.
    When the king heard she was grieving over a dream-wreath, he asked her how it looked and what its shape was. Then he had a paper wreath made which he sent out far and wide to see if anyone could come up with something like it.
    Wonder-wreaths and marvels of every kind were delivered to the king, but the princess tossed them aside. No wreath could ever match the one she’d seen in her dream.
    But one day, as she was wandering in the woods near her home, she saw a whitebear through the trees, frisking and frolicking with the very wreath of her desires – tossing and tumbling it between his heavy paws.
    â€˜Your wreath,’ she said to the bear, ‘I’d like to buy it from you.’
    â€˜You can have it,’ said the bear, ‘for the right price.’
    â€˜Name it,’ said the princess.
    â€˜You can have it in exchange for the one who wants it most,’ the bear said.
    I’d pay with my life
, thought the princess to herself,
though my life’s worth nothing without it
, while to the whitebear she said, ‘It makes no difference to me.’
    So they agreed that the whitebear would come to the king’s house in three days time and – as his fee for the wreath – fetch the one who wanted it most.
    When the king heard of his girl’s bargain he was not alarmed – in fact, he was secretly pleased. With two mean daughters on his hands, he thought he might have found a chance to be rid of at least one of them.
    So, when the whitebear arrived as promised on the Thursday night, the king sent out his eldest daughter – sour as a troll-hag and crankier than a cornered shrew –