West of the Moon by Katherine Langrish Page A

them giants, by what I’ve heard!”
    â€œGiants?” Sigurd’s eyes grew wide.
    Eirik nodded. “Trolls come all sizes; and the one in this story was a big one, a little taller than a man. She was pretty, I daresay —”
    â€œA pretty troll!” Sigrid interrupted, laughing.
    â€œYes, she had yellow hair and a nice long tail that wagged when she was happy. And she married a young farmer and wagged her tail at the wedding.”
    Gudrun and Hilde were laughing now.
    â€œWell, this young farmer’s friends and neighbours were disgusted. They thought he was out of his mind to go marrying a troll. They wouldn’t talk to his bride, or visit her. She sat by herself in her nice new house and was very lonely.”
    â€œPoor troll,” said Sigrid.
    â€œHuh,” said Sigurd. “I think he was stupid to marry a troll.”
    â€œSee what happened,” said Eirik. “One day, her father paid her a visit. He was a grim old troll from under the Dovrefell, and when he found his daughter sitting crying he said, ‘ What’s all this? ’” Eirik deepened his voice to a growl. “‘If your husband isn’t kind to you, I’ll tear his arms and legs off!’
    â€œâ€˜It’s the neighbours,’ said the troll bride. ‘They won’t have anything to do with me, and I’m so-o-o lonely!’
    â€œâ€˜Come with me,’ said her father, rolling up his sleeves, ‘and we’ll have a little game of catch.’
    â€œThe grim old troll went stamping round the village chasing people out of their houses, and when he got hold of them he threw them right over the Hall roof. And his daughter rushed around the other side and caught each one of them and put them back on their feet.
    â€œWhen everyone in the village had been thrown over the Hall roof, the old troll shouted, ‘You’d better start being very nice to my daughter. Because if not,’ he glared, ‘if not, I’ll come back and play with you again – only, this time, my daughter will throw, and I will catch!’”
    Sigrid looked puzzled. “I don’t understand,” she began.
    â€œDo you think the old troll would really have caught them?” Hilde asked.
    â€œOh!” Sigrid’s face cleared. “He would have let them fall!”
    â€œOr eaten them up,” said Sigurd with relish.
    Eirik nodded. “So after that you’d never believe how polite the neighbours were. They called to see her every day and brought flowers and cakes and baskets of eggs. She was as happy as the day was long, and wagged her tail merrily. And that’s a story from the Dovrefell!” He smiled and stopped.
    â€œBedtime,” said Gudrun. As the twins hugged their grandfather and said goodnight, Hilde felt sudden sadness wash over her. If only Pa were here , she thought. But at least he’s alive. Not like Peer Ulfsson’s father. Poor Peer, he must hate living at the mill. I wonder what he’s doing right now?
    Peer was eating his frugal supper. His uncles had given him some stale bread, a raw onion, a small piece of dry cheese and the end of a rancid sausage, and gone off somewhere taking Grendel with them, leaving Peer to mind the mill alone – except for Loki, who lay asleep by the fire...
    The mill was noisily alive. Everything vibrated. The waterwheel thumped like a dark heart beating. The machinery clacked. Old dust trickled down the walls. Up in the loft, finely ground meal was snowing from the rim of the millstones and piling up on a wooden platform. Peer’s job was to climb the ladder from time to time and sweep it into sacks. It was dark up there, full of spooky shadows and old junk: worm-eaten cogwheels with half the teeth missing, a worn old millstone propped against the wall.
    Peer gave the sausage to Loki and looked about, still hungry. The table was cluttered with dirty dishes, bacon rinds and crusts. On the