“But enough, enough of these tales. Let me tell you a tale from my youth that brings us comfort, comfort as you try to get your rest for tomorrow’s travels.”
Sig yawned. She was exhausted both physically and emotionally. She closed her eyes as Snorri launched into his tale.
“In the mountains to the east, across the great glacier, is the home of the Ogress, Grýla. A terrible troll monster, she has bested two husbands and now lives with her third, the lazy troll Leppalúði, and her thirteen sons all born on the same day in the time of the Feast of the New Born. Grýla is a horrible mother and doesn’t allow the boys to leave their dark, terrible cave even to go gather berries for her. No, she keeps them close at hand to swat and hit when her mood is foul which is all the time.
“However, she realizes boys being boys they need to blow off steam so once a year, one boy each day is able to go down to the villages in the dark of night. This is done around the Feast of the New Born when children receive gifts if they’ve been good or rotten potatoes if they’ve been bad.”
Sig chuckled softly. Snorri was telling them a little kid’s story, even though they were way past that age. But it comforted her to hear the old man tell a beloved childhood story.
After he had told the story of how the lads—after years of making mischief for the villagers—decided to leave little gifts for the good children Sig drifted off to sleep. She dreamt of jolly faced, grey bearded boy-men leaving gifts for her during the Christmas season and carting her back to her home on a reindeer-pulled pulk.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish