West of the Moon by Katherine Langrish

valley, Hilde was eating supper. Through mouthfuls, she told her family about meeting Peer, and the Grimsson brothers’ threats.
    â€œI knew there’d be trouble,” Gudrun exclaimed. “Your father should never have gone.”
    â€œYou could always give them the golden cup ?” Hilde cocked an eyebrow at her mother.
    â€œOver my dead body,” said Gudrun promptly. “I never wanted the thing, but it’s your father’s pride and joy. They can’t have it.”
    â€œI thought you’d say that. I’d better keep an eye on our sheep, then, hadn’t I? In case the Grimssons steal them. I’ll ride up to the Stonemeadow tomorrow.”
    â€œOh no, you won’t.”
    â€œWhy not?” Hilde tossed back her hair, fancying herself as the family’s gallant guardian, patrolling the hills. “Don’t you think I ought to, Grandpa?”
    â€œWell,” began Eirik, working at a meaty crab claw with the point of his knife.
    â€œI utterly forbid it,” Gudrun interrupted. “She’s just a girl. What could she do against those two ruffians and their savage dog? Off with you, Hilde, and milk the cow before it gets too dark.”
    Hilde picked up the milking bucket and stool and went, banging the door a little harder than necessary. But once she began climbing the steep pasture behind the farm, she felt better. The wide western sky was full of light. It was a perfect spring evening, very quiet, except for far-off sheep bleating, and the sounds of the cow and the pony tearing up grass.
    Then she heard a new sound, the unmistakeable high-pitched rattle of milk squirting into a metal pan – accompanied by a weird growling hum like a very large bee. Goosebumps rose on her skin. She broke into a run and saw a small hairy troll squatting beside Bonny the cow, milking her into a copper pail.
    â€œOi!” shouted Hilde. The troll snatched up its pail and scampered up the hillside into the twilight. Hilde stood panting, hands on hips. She had to soothe and stroke the cow before Bonny would stand still. But the troll had milked her nearly dry, and Hilde went back to the house with no more than a cupful at the bottom of her pail. As she came to the door her mother called, “Bring the broom in with you, Hilde.”
    â€œWhat broom?” Hilde asked.
    â€œIsn’t it there?” Gudrun came out. “But I left it right by the door,” she said, vexed. “I can’t lay my hands on anything… Is that all the milk?” She was even more put out when she heard Hilde’s tale.
    â€œThey probably stole the broom too,” said Hilde. “You see, mother? It’s not so easy to keep out of trouble.”
    â€œThe varmints!” Eirik shook his head. “Worse than rats. They wouldn’t be so bold if my son was here: no, they wouldn’t come robbing us then!”
    â€œThey’re becoming a perfect plague,” said Gudrun.
    â€œWhen I was a young fellow,” said Eirik gloomily, “I could have thrown anyone who so much as stepped on my shadow clean over the barn. No pack of trolls would have bothered me. Now I’m just a useless old man.”
    â€œNonsense,” Gudrun scolded him. “We need you very much, Eirik. We depend on you for – for wisdom, and advice.”
    â€œAdvice! Women never listen to advice,” scoffed Eirik, but he looked pleased.
    â€œAnd stories! Tell us a story, Grandpa,” little Sigrid piped up from the floor where she was playing with the kitten. Eirik tugged her plait with his gnarled old hand.
    â€œA story, missy? What is it to be about?”
    â€œTrolls!” said her brother, Sigurd. The twins scrambled up and pressed close to Eirik’s knees.
    â€œLet me think,” Eirik began. “Let me see. How about a story from a place far to the north, the wild mountains of the Dovrefell, where there are even more trolls than here? And some of