The Troll and the Hare

A Yule Time Story

by Martin Calderwood

 

Grruf was cold and for a Troll who lived most of his life wondering up and down the borders between Sweden and Norway this was saying quite a lot.  He was also hungry, which is about the same as saying water is wet.  Very few Trolls are ever too full to eat another meal or two or three.  They might occasionally fill up on a cow or a couple of small sheep, but most of the time they are hungry and Grruf was powerful hungry.

“Perhaps,” he thought, a horse or cow would be nice but if I stop I will never make it home in time for Yule.”    He was still over a day away from his family and the fine cozy cave they lived in and even though he was hungry and cold he did not dare stop.  “My wife will have my hide on the wall if I am late again this year.”

The powerful but smallish Troll, standing just under a meter and a half, was especially pleased with himself because after days of searching he had finally found the perfect Yule Log.  A log fit for a king, perfectly round and full of the fragrant smells of  nature nestled in every chink and furrow of its dark, rich bark.

He had found the log where it had fallen, blown from a tree by some force that had charred one end.  He had no way of telling how long the branch had waited for him but it was dry to the touch and free of any signs of decay.  With powerful hands he had snapped the burned part off about an arms length from the bottom.  Humming he stuck the end into the snow and measured it to just above his waistline and easily snapped off  the top part of the branch.  With rough hands and years of practice Grruf made easy work of the jagged, broken edges and soon he had the ‘perfect log’ 60 cm long with a 30 cm diameter.  It would burn the entire Yule eve as the family sat on their bear skin rugs and sang Trollish songs of food and harmony.  Other pieces he gathered too until he had a  sling full of the valuable wood.  These pieces he would burn on the Yule because even though the day meant different things to Troll folk they, like their human neighbors, still yearned for peace and plenty in their world and a fire always signified hope for Gruff and his kind.

As he trudged steadily along in the dry, crisp snow he listened intently to Nature’s symphony that rose and blossomed even in these deep winter hours.  A steady breeze rustled the foliage around him bringing harmonious rhythms to support the whistle of the wind through the empty branches.  The occasional call of a distant fowl or the lone howl of a nearby wolf added to the chorus for which his boots provided the steady clump of a bass that reverberated into the distance. 

The music rose and fell note by note, measure by measure as only nature herself can weave a tapestry of sound.  Even the discordant sounds tended to blend in as part of the production to all but the most sophisticated of ears.  Grruf knew nature and lived in full harmony with her but even he was slow to notice the distant discord that was about to enter his life. 

Crying?   Grruf sniffed the air suspiciously.  Hesitantly he drew a deeper breath savoring the aromas of life around him.  No humans, not even a child, could be detected in the solitude of these great woods.  Yet he heard crying, the pitiful sound of a baby who had not gotten its way.  He sniffed again.  Was that blood he smelled?  Distant, something was hurt.  Realization dawned quickly, for a Troll, as he set his bundle down.  Not too far away a hare was injured, the keening cry he heard told him that the situation was very bad.  Probably a wolf had found a meal and was letting the wounded hare die rather than waste energy chasing down a kill.   Grruf picked up his bundle and moved slowly forward content to know that nature was as unchangeable and predictable as ever.

The sobbing rasp of the Hare intensified.  Grruf again put his bundle down and moved toward the sound, ten steps then a twenty and then a hundred. Then he was running.  Since he was a boy he had never liked wolves so the thought of robbing one of an easy meal and perhaps sating his own powerful hunger for a few moments spurred him forward. 

With a loud bluster of noise he burst into a clearing where the smell of the blood and fear was the strongest.  The cry stopped immediately and for a moment all the world hung silently as Grruf’s eyes searched for his foe.  All he saw was a white and black hare snagged hopelessly in a snare set by some human and left carelessly behind.  The thin black wire had cut deep into the back of the hares neck and Grruf knew that the hares moments in life would end if he was not freed from the cruel trap. 

In seconds the bellicose nightmare of myth faded to a soft spoken son of nature as he walked carefully over to the terrified animal. 

“Stop!  Do not fight  trap.  I  help you.” said Grruf in a harsh rasping voice that his wife found soothing. 

“Do not eat me.” said the Hare its voice verging upon exhaustion.

Grruf was not too bright in the ways outside the woods so he did not know that Hares or any other animals could not talk   All he knew was that if one listened to anyone they usually had something to say and sometimes it was important.  Like now.

“I not eat you.” said Grruf sincerely as his thick fingers began to probe for the wicked ends of the wire.  “Not move,  Hare.  Wolves not have you for food.”

Though it tried the terrified animal could not control the tremors that ravaged its body as Grruf in frustration gripped the wire and broke it sending part of the noose snare deeper into the wound.  The hare barked in fear and frustration and tried to run but Grruf held it firm as he removed the last of the trap.  Still confused the hare bit at Grruf but only succeeded in hurting its mouth which was dry and sore from its harsh sad cries. 

From a small sack he had tied securely to his belt Grruf took out a small bundle of dried herbs and a bit of poultice that would have barely covered the back of his hand but it was enough to cover the wound of the still struggling hare.   This treasure, from his wife, had helped him many times when he had been injured in his wanderings and he wanted to make sure he had enough for an emergency but he also wanted to make certain also that he covered the hare’s wound properly.

“Stop.  Hold.  Not hurt you.” ‘soothed’ Grruf.  “Let magic work.”

Slowly the jangled nerves of the hare began to relax and finally it lay still on a packed area of snow that Grruf had made as he had moved around the snare trying to get it off.

“Good.  Feel magic of healer leaves.  Where you live?”

The hare closed his eyes and drew a slow breath.  “Over two-thousand leaps from here.  In the direction of the lesser light of the night’s  rise.”

“What you do so far from home?” asked Grruf checking the poultice and adding some more herbs to the wound.  Somewhere in his mind he wondered why he was wasting the precious contents on the potential meal but he had said he would help so he would do just that.

“Not that far really.  My family needs a bigger hole near water.  I was looking for one.   I found one but when I started home I was caught.  I know what happened to the ones who lived there before.” explained the Hare weakly.

Grruf nodded and looked up at the moon that peaked occasionally through the clouds that told of a storm that would be there by soon.  “I take you home but first I get my logs.”

The weary hare did not protest as Grruf scooped him up and placed him over his shoulder to ride like a sack.   Holding on to the hind legs Grruf strode off toward where he had left his bundle.  

“Do you have a name Troll?”  asked the hare softly.

“I Grruf.  You have name?”

“I am called Blender because I can hide anywhere.”  The voice sounded a little stronger.

“Why did you help me?”

“It Yule.  Not want Hare Blender family have bad day.”

“Then you would have eaten me another time?”

“Yes.”  Grruf paused.  “But not now.”

The hare seemed to relax a little as he bounced along on Grruf’s wide shoulder which really was not all that uncomfortable.  The steadfast being of the forest moved swiftly retracing his steps to where he had left his treasured Yule Log.  He was somewhat relieved to find it where he had dropped it and quickly he scooped it up and started to move toward the point of the rising moon.  Almost immediately, as if nature planned to test this being of legend, the wind picked up  crystal snow blowing it through the increasingly moist air and obliterating tracks with fresh drifts and swells.  Grruf could feel the temperature warming slightly as the front moved forward bringing with it a new storm and fresh concerns.  Grruf knew that it would be hard for him to be frozen but occasionally an unwary or unlucky  troll had been stopped in their tracks by the cold arctic storms forcing them to await the Spring thaw if they were not found and if that happened his wife would not be very understanding.     

The crunch of the snow under his boots and the whistle of the wind forced Grruf to stain his other senses to alert himself to any dangers.  In the great symphony of nature one had to hear all the parts in order to fully be a part of the production.  He also had to fight his growing hunger.  The weight of the Hare and the enticing smell of dried blood were a constant reminder of his ‘innards’ discomfort.  Steadfastly, he ignored his needs as he pushed on through the elements hoping that the exhausted and dozing hare would be able to provide better directions when he awoke.  Still the close proximity of food warred with his promise as he moved steadily forward as the night deepened in silence and darkness.  Soon all light from the sky would vanish in the blackness of the storm.

Blender’s long ears twitched and perked up.  As worn as he was his keen sense of hearing picked up a sound moments before Grruf.

“Wolves.” he muttered.

Grruf froze and strained to listen, to focus on the whisper of sound he had heard.  His eyes darted to and fro looking for the ghost like creatures as he backed toward the only cover, a large tree on the edge of a clearing.  It was not much but it would help and even though he was not really afraid of the wolves he knew that he was vulnerable and if he was not careful he could be hurt or even killed if the wolves got lucky.  More importantly he knew that a leaping wolf could easily reach the hare.  A solid hit from one or a bite in the right area could take him off his feet and if he went down there was no chance for his charge even if he survived.

He thought quickly as the shadows beyond the tree line began to move and take shape.  Wisely the wolves had come up from downwind letting one of their number howl from the other direction.  The diversion had worked well but the wolves were not spoiling for a fight with a Troll no matter what the odds.  Silently the pack surrounded the Troll warily cutting off all paths of retreat. 

“Give us the hare, Troll.” growled the leader, a large gray wolf with the tip of his left ear torn and dangling. 

Grruf howled a warning and placed his arm securely over the hare.  “Go now.” was all he said.

“There are many of us Troll.  Is the hare worth the fight?” snarled Dangle Ear.

“Wolf not eat hare.  Grruf give word.” 

“And you would rather die?”  asked the leader.  The wolf laugh that followed was a horrible coughing snort.  “Let it be.”

Several of the wolves howled, blood chilling,  night rending cries.  A young pup rushed in from behind and nipped at the boots of the Troll.   Grruf barely felt the pressure but kicked at the retreating form.  Another, an older female charged and leaped back to avoid the swinging sling of wood.  With their foes attention diverted the wolves struck from both sides grabbing hard at the fleshy thigh their vice like grasp sinking teeth through the thick leather clothing the Troll wore to keep warm.  Still Grruf felt his skin bruise as he brought the logs back, slamming one of the wolves into the tree.  A loud crack reverberated above the storm as the wolf dropped and was still.  His partner sprang from behind.  The sharp fangs tore into the exposed leg of the injured hare.  Blender yelped in pain.  The bag of logs again found its mark, and the wolf staggered back stunned.  Dodging, spitting and growling the wolves slipped in and out inflicting pain and wounds upon Grruf who swung furiously at his attackers.  Three more wolves were knocked out of the fight and a lucky backswing had caught Dangle Ear in the hip painfully bruising the leader.              It took several swings for Grruf to realize that his foes had vanished.  Only the body of the first one killed remained.  Grruf reared his head and roared, then sagged briefly catching his breath.  The smell of fresh hare blood assaulted his nostrils.  Without thinking, he reached into his pouch and pulled out the last of the poultice and herbs.  Skillfully he pressed the leaves and herbs on the hare’s wound ignoring the numerous cuts and bruises he had sustained.  Most of his wounds would heal quickly but a few he knew would benefit from a poultice.  However, that was not to be.  Blender needed it and he had promised him that his family would not be sad for Yule. 

The Hare trembled and coughed in pain.  “We are still too far from my barrow.  Keep going the way we are and look for a large stone that has no rocks near it and then turn to the staying star and go 200 long leaps then look for a burned tree.  When you see it, wake me and I will call for my family.”

Grruf nodded and began to pick up the injured hare to put it on his shoulder but his eyes fell upon the dead wolf now catching some snow as it was beginning to fall.  His stomach growled loudly as he looked back at the hare.  Taking his coat off, he covered the hare then walked over to the wolf. 

It was past midnight when he started walking toward the area Blender had told him of.  His new wolf skin coat felt warm and his stomach rumbled in temporary contentment.  The wolf tail was tucked in his belt and the teeth were secured in the medicine bag that had been empty. He checked  Blender’s wounds. The recent wound had stopped bleeding and the first wound from the snare had started to seal itself with an irregular red line that the Hare would have for the rest of his life.  With uncommon gentleness Grruf smoothed the poultice pushing it deeper into the wound so it could work more of its magic on the new wound.

When Grruf finally reached the ‘stone alone,’ it looked as if some great troll had jammed the obelisk into the ground as a marker or tribute for some long ago forgotten purpose.  It was almost three times taller than Grruf and was sharpened on the top as if it were pointing toward the stars.

Grruf paused and checked his patient who seemed to be struggling to stay awake.  Worried, he started away from the stone as Blender had instructed.  The snow began to fall harder and the wind died. By morning there would be many centimeters of new snow on the ground.  A few minutes later Grruf stood beside the burned tree, an old spruce that the sky fires had struck many years ago. 

“We here, Blender.  Call family.”  said Grruf after looking briefly for the hole.

The hare stirred but said nothing.

“Hare.  Call family!”  

A soft almost clucking noise barely escaped Blender’s mouth.   The winter storm grew stronger for a moment then eased back.

“Call again.” ordered Grruf then called “Blender family come .”

Blender coughed and drew a deep breath and began to ‘cry’ softly not by way of warning but as if pleading for help.

           Grruf strained his eyes looking for the concealed hole when he heard a gentle pawing sound from behind him.   Slowly he turned as a small hole emerged in the snow behind him.  He watched silently as a head rose from the hole and sniffed the air cautiously.

“Father?” came a wee voice.

Grruf stepped forward.  The terrified hare vanished into the hole.

“Small hare, get mother.  He hurt.”  Gently he lay the injured hare in front of the hole.

Blender repeated his cry briefly.

The child’s head was replaced by a larger head of a grayish hare with brown markings over one eye.  Seeing Grruf she pulled back but when she saw her mate laying before the hole where Grruf had set him he rushed forward.

“He hurt bad.  Need help.”

“I am not a healer, but it looks like you have done well, Troll.  My hole is deep and warm but the storm is building and he will need extra warmth to heal.”   She said examining the wounds of he mate.  “I must drag him into our hole.”

Grruf nodded and took off the wolf skin as three smaller hares emerged from the hole.  By their mother’s command, the largest placed his head on his father as his mother took the uninjured hind leg in her mouth and began to pull Blender into hole.  The son pushed while the others watched nervously, looking from the troll to their father and back.  Grruf watched for a minute then turned his attention to the skin.  Drawing a small knife from his belt he made a cut two hand-spans up from the bottom of the hide.  He carefully took the two sides of the rip and with a soft grunt rent the hide, creating a small blanket size piece.  With a rare smile he put the pieces down on the ground and picked up his coat that had been wrapped around Blender.  The two younger hares sniffed it cautiously becoming agitated by the familiar and hostile scent.

“Hide not hurt you.  Keep you warm.  Drag in and cover Blender.”

The two looked at the hide and scampered down the hole after their father.  Moments later the mother appeared again and took the hide in her teeth.  She pulled it several centimeters then dropped it and looked up at Grruf.

“Thank you.” she said softly.  “Blessed Yule to you and your family.”  She then vanished pulling the skin in after her.  

Grruf slipped on his jacket then picked up and shook the remaining furry skin and threw it over his shoulders.  He glanced skyward and with a heavy sigh he picked up his Yule log and started the long walk back toward the path home.  He guessed that if he hurried he still might be able to make it home before it was time to light the Yule Log and feast upon the magnificent supper his wife would be making now.  His stomach growled.  Perhaps it would be a thick rich stew or even a large side of cow.  He smacked his lips and thought of how cozy his home would be as they burned the wood that he now carried as he hurried along through the blustering storm.

Grruf could feel his muscles tighten and ache from the wolf attack.  Part of him wanted nothing more than to find an old hollow tree or a small cave where he could curl up and rest for a while.  He would have done just that but the thought of his wife’s cooking spurred him onward.  He could almost smell the sweet musky smell of an old elk that had wondered by to become their dinner or the simmering of hot mutton in a thick gravy a loaf of his wife’s famous bread.  Any Yule meal his wife made would be delicious.  His cold mind envisioned the hot cooking fire near the outer edge of the cave where the smoke could escape to the outdoors leaving only the lingering smells of the coming meal behind.  He saw his wife fussing as any good troll women would over the details as the children decorated the cave with a small tree hung with bright bobbles found through-out the years.  His mind warmed as he trudged on but he could feel his body growing slower despite the meal he had eaten earlier.  He focused harder on his home and the small warming fire near the back of the cave where he would burn the perfectly dried wood he had found and where the Yule log would bring joy and warmth to the treasured holiday. 

So intent was he in his imagination that he did not see the figure that loomed suddenly in his path.  Before he knew what hit him he felt his body slam into the form seemingly frozen in the path knocking it sideways into the snowy brush.   

“Watch it!” cried Grruf in surprise as he looked down on the fallen figure.  Only then did he realize that it was another Troll, an old woman.

A soft moan escaped her lips but she did not move. 

He took a step closer and nudged her with his boot.  She groaned again.

Frustrated he pushed at her and touched her skin which was cold and brittle feeling. 

“Get up.  You freeze!” he ordered.

Still she did not move and he knew that if something was not done it would be Spring again before she left the woods if she lived that long.  He patted her and rubbed her and even threw the wolf skin over her but nothing happened.  Desperately he looked around for wood for a fire but only green trees and damp wood could be seen. 

Grruf looked skyward trying to will the storm away but was rewarded with a blast of cold air.  With a heavy sigh he unlooped the straps on his sling and took out the wood carefully wrapping the Yule log back up inside.  Deftly he shaved off several splinters and broke off small chunks and built a small fire near the woman’s feet.  From his pocket he took a flint and steel and a bit of dry brush which he carefully kept dry while cutting some fur from the wolf skin blanket that covered the old women.  Skillfully he struck the chunk of flint with the small steel rod causing a spark that caught the air and caused a whiff of smoke.  A second strike and the hair and brush began to smolder.  Grruf carefully blew on it acting as a gentle bellows until the fire gave a flash and began to burn.  Carefully he added more from his pouch to the fire that was beginning to crackle.  The tiny slivers of wood caught and ignited the larger chunks and soon Grruf added the first full piece of his special wood to the fire.  

Carefully he dragged the old woman’s still motionless form closer to the fire.  Trolls by tradition are supposed to be afraid of fire, but it is more a healthy respect for it.  Gruff did not want the old woman to be burned, so he kept her at a safe distance.  He then used his own body as a small wind break while lifting the skin over the fire just high enough to keep the heat in without it catching fire.

Like a sturdy birch he stood there holding the skin and feeding the fire until he could sense the sun rising to the East.  Just before dawn the storm had passed leaving almost 23 cm of snow on the ground around him.  As the sun light began to filter through the lingering clouds the old woman stirred.  Grruf put the last log on the fire and told her to try to sit up and warm some more.  In response the woman groaned and lifted up slowly until she was sitting sideways next to  the fire.  Grruf quickly helped her drape the fire warmed fur over her shoulders and then he gave her a drink from the water bottle he carried with him whenever he was out and about.

“Why you stop?” she said sounding very old and very tired.

“You in way.” was all Grruf could offer as he carefully wrapped his Yule Log tightly in the sling.  “You go home.  Not stay in cold.  Family miss.”

“No family.  All North or stone.  Alone am I.”  Her voice sounded strangely sad, for most Trolls liked being alone as much as possible unless their wife was a good cook.

Grruf paused and considered then said something quiet untrollish.  “You come my cave eat.  Stay Yule in warm cave then go home.”

The old troll looked at him suspiciously.  “What you want.”

“Want go home.  You want, you come.”  And he trudged off through the new snow carefully choosing his path so she could follow if she decided.

After about a kilometer Grruf looked back and saw that she was following steadily but a bit shakily in his tracks.  He waited until she was within a few meters pretending to be looking intently at a rock then moved on. 

They traveled in silence for several hours.  Grruf decided that if nothing bad happened he would be home by dusk.  He knew if he walked as fast as he could he would be there two maybe three hours faster but at least now the fire of the night still warmed him inside and he was content with the idea of letting the old woman troll follow.

At midday his stomach grumbled reminding him that he was still a long way from home.  He looked back at the old women who seemed to be moving slower.  He grunted in exasperation and kicked at a near by bush.  To his surprise when the snow fell the bush was still covered with some shriveled berries that had not been collected by the wide variety of animals in the forest.

Greedily he began pulling off handfuls of the still viable fruits and began stuffing them in his mouth.  He noticed that the moment he started eating the old woman picked up her pace and within a few minutes was pushing by him to get at the food.  His stomach somewhat satisfied Grruf moved away leaving her to eat her fill.  After all, he reasoned, when he got home he would eat very well, if his wife was not too mad.

It did not take long for the old troll to skillfully strip the bush of most of its berries. With a soft hiccup she turned and starred at Grruf.  “How far now?”  she asked pointedly then almost to soft to be heard she added “You good boy, Horance glad.”

Grruf pretended not to hear though with his keen hearing there was no way he could miss the rare troll compliment.  “Be home by maybe before moon-rise.   Eat then.  You move faster.”

The old woman grumbled but followed at a slightly quicker pace doing her best to keep astride the much younger troll.  As they walked she seemed to grow bored an began to talk.  She told Grruf about how her cave had been taken by a large family of bears and how her son had gone out many years ago and never returned.  She seemed to talk a lot and Grruf, like a good Troll pretended not to listen but occasionally made comments and told her a little bit about his family and how he liked to make things out of stone to trade for things he needed.  He talked most about his two children Grit and Pook and how much they looked forward to Yule.  He did not realize how swiftly the time passed as he moved unerringly homeward.  He was surprised that has the sun sank below the tree line that he was only a few kilometer from his home near the human farm that he sometimes visited to trade for vegetables and tools. He was not at all troubled by the smell of humans somewhere nearby.  The old woman was, however, nervous.

“Not worry.  Old Bern good.  Have farm.  He live alone with cat and cow and horse and chickens.  Not do much now, he old but him friend of troll.  I go visit.”

Without a word more he cut to the left and headed to the old farm house he had visited a time or two before.  When he crossed the stream that marked the border of the old farm he sniffed the air.  The house stood on the other side of the land. Behind it was the barn that seemed to sag a little under the weight of the snow and its age.  Grruf could tell that the old man was in the barn from the scent that drifted on the early evening breeze.

The old women followed cautiously behind.  It was obvious that she did not know or trust humans and when Grruf got to the barn door she hung back trying to stay out of site. 

Grruf did not say a word until he stepped inside and then growled.  “Old man here?  Troll hungry and need food.”

The words of the cheery Troll greeting were answered by silence.

“Old man?”

This time a soft moan was the unexpected answer.  Grruf walked down the side of the barn alongside the old wagon which seemed to lean awkwardly to the left.  He got to the end where the horse was tethered and looked down.  Old Bern was lying  face down on the ground. Part of the wagon wheel appeared to be pinning his legs against one of the support beams of the barn while the weight of the wagon prevented any chance of escape.  Beside him the sleigh runner sat in two pieces telling Grruf what had happened.  The old man looked pale and there was no way of knowing how long ago the accident had happened.  Grruf moved as quickly as he had ever moved and grabbed the wagon and lifted it up with one hand shoving the Yule Log under the axle to hold it up.  Awkwardly he picked up the old man and toted him toward the door.  Outside he called to the old woman to help.  Hesitantly she came up and followed them to the house opening the heavy wooden door so they could enter.  Grruf dumped the old man on the floor as gently as he could and looked around the room.  The fire had died down to a glowing pile of embers. 

“Build fire!” he ordered the old woman.  “You got herbs?”

The old woman shook her head as she threw several pieces of wood onto the fire which scattered sparks onto the hearth.  While Grruf covered the old man with a quilt she knelt and blew on the cinders and soon they caught and began to burn.  The old man moaned and opened his eyes.  The site of a troll looking down on him was difficult to comprehend and he looked confused.

“Who are you?” he asked weakly.

“I Grruf.”

The old man seemed to search his memory.  “Grruf?  Oh the stone worker.  Thank you for saving me.”

You live?”

“I am very stiff and a bit chilly but nothing seems to be broken.  I was putting on the runners for my wagon when one broke and I was pinned.  I am not as young as I was and I could not lift it up.  I laid there all night.  I was beginning to think I was not going to make it.”  The human raised up slightly  realizing then that they were not alone.  “Who are you?” he asked the Troll by the fire.

“She Horance.  You have food?”

“Hello Horance.  I am Bern Bjorns-son.  Thank you for helping me.”

The old woman said nothing but grinned a little. 

The Old Bern lay still for a moment than began to move parts of his body.  Shakily he sat up.  “Help me up.  I don’t think anything is broken.  Good thing you came along or I would have been in big trouble.  Are you hungry?”

Bern knew that was a silly question, so as he asked he accepted Grruf’s big hand and stood shakily.  “You wait here.  I have a cheese or two that I can’t eat and lots of milk from my cow.  You can have what you want.  Now that it is only me, I don’t eat as much as I used to and I hate to see things go bad.”

Bern went somewhat shakily to the cooler room and selected some of the oldest cheese there and brought it out giving one each to Grruf and Horance.  He then carried out a large pail of milk the top of which was just starting to thicken.  Grruf sniffed and grinned picking up the bucket.  In moments it was half empty.  Smacking his lips he remembered the old troll and handed the bucket to her.  She sniffed it, suspicious of human food then took a sip.  It did not take long for her to drain the bucket. 

Old Bern watched with a glimmer in his eye. It had been a long while since he had any visitors, troll or human, and three days since he had visited his nearest neighbor.  “Are you on your way home for the Yule?”  He asked as his guests consumed the cheese.

Grruf looked out the window, the sun was almost gone and darkness would envelop them soon.  “Must go. Wife want Grruf home for Yule.”

Bern nodded.  “Yule is good, but it is best with family.  I didn’t even go pick out a Yule log or bring in a tree this year.  It just seems too much a bother for a man alone.”

Grruf remembered where he had left his sling.  Must go but first have trade for old man.

The Troll hurried out to the barn where he retrieved his sling.  Gently he undid his log and set it aside.  With a feeling that he did not fully understand he walked to the wood pile outside the barn and selected several small pieces of dried wood from the middle of the pile which he put into his sling.  Somehow content Grruf  returned for his Yule log and hurried back into the house.  He entered banging the old door slightly.

“Trade  wood,” he said holding up the sling and it’s contents, “for log for Yule.”

The old man who had been rubbing his aching muscles stood and took the proffered log.  In silence he examined it sniffing and turning it as a Troll would.  Bern recognized the troll workmanship in shaping the log and knew at once what significance the log held for his savior.                 “It’s a trade.” he said softly.  “Now you hurry or your wife will be mad as an old bear.  Thank you Grruf and thank you Horance.  I wish you both a very happy Yule time.”

Without another word Bern opened the door so his guests could leave.  He watched until the pair had passed the little garden his wife had made and then silently closed the door.  Bern knew what the troll had done and he swallowed hard as he turned the log in his hands.  Smiling gratefully he latched  the door and turned toward the fireplace.  The perfect log would make this a very pleasant Yule indeed. Bern intended to savor every moment of its glow while dreaming of times past and future as the log burned joyfully through Yule eve.

Grruf covered the distance to his home in what seemed like just a few heartbeats.  The old woman too seemed spryer of step as they moved through the fresh snow.  When Grruf came across tracks that he recognized as those made by his children he bellowed a warm greeting that rumbled down the rill that lead to his cave.  He was rewarded by the smell of roasting elk that drifted lazily on the air.

Minutes later Grruf stood outside his cave surrounded by his family. 

            “Didja find a Yule Log?”  demanded Pook looking at the sling over her father’s back.

“Who she?” asked Grit from behind his mother who held a large spoon in her hand.

“Find many nice wood for Yule fire.  This Horance.  She freeze, I warm her and she come to eat with us.  Stop by farm of Old Bern.  He hurt.  I fix.”

                 Gradually the tale of the trip came out as they ate the Yule feast.  Not only had his wife, Chunka made the elk but she had made stew too.  It was the best Yule eve feast that he could remember.  When he was finished he decided to help clean up and then invited Horance to stay if she would help with cave and children.  She had grumbled but agreed.  Grruf did not know why but it seemed his wife had a bit more sparkle in her eye as they put the wood from Old Bern on the fire at the back of the cave.  Though not as sweet and perfect the wood was dry and crackled merrily warming the cave as they prepared for the visit of Troll Father and his gifts for all good troll children.  Grit had demanded a kick sled and Pook wanted a doll.  Grruf had told them that if they were good their wish would come true and Chunka had told him that while he was gone the two had been as good as any children could be.  Grruf had praised them and hugged them in a very untrollike manner as he made them lie down to sleep. 

Troll Father was as good as his word.  Outside the cave next to the old Spruce decorated with strings of berries and beads sat a full size kick sled painted green and rusty brown.  The runners were sharp, square, and so smooth they seemed to slide along the snow even when resting.  Beside this wonder of wood and leather strapping was a box that appeared to be made from a single large rock.  Pook squealed as she grabbed off the lid and found inside a troll doll that grinned toothely back at her.  The doll was dressed in a black skirt and a plaid blouse.  Around her head she had a red bandanna holding back a mop of black hair that resembled a rats nest of tangled string.  Grruf and Chunka watched in silent pleasure as the Grit pushed the sled down the path away from the cave while Pook danced around the cooking fire with her new friend.  The storm of the previous night was breaking and the morning light peeked shyly through the breaks of the clouds as they drifted out toward the sea.

The two trolls watched for a moment then Grruf walked over to niche in the rock beside the cave.  From this miniature cave he pulled a paper wrapped bundle and handed it to his wife who tore it open gleefully. Inside was a glistening chain formed from silverware that Grruf had melted down and formed into links.  Attached to the chain inside a skillfully crafted cage was a polished  sphere of glistening crystal that caught a beam of light and shown a rainbow on the outer wall of the cave.

“It magic.” he said proudly.

 Chunka looked at her mate and grinned broadly and put the bauble on.  Grruf nodded his approval as she spun around in the snow showing off the sparkles of light in the new morning.  After a minute or two she came to a halt and  looked at her mate.   Smiling like a little trollette she carefully removed from under her apron a long thin package.  Inside was an antler hilt knife.  With obvious pleasure she handed it to Grruf.

           “Happy Yule.” she said coyly.

Grruf quickly unwrapped the gift and examined the blade which fit perfectly in his hand. He decided immediately that it would make an excellent skinning and hunting knife.  With obvious pleasure he slid the knife into his belt.  It felt good to have a weapon again, he had lost his a few weeks ago while hunting and had not had anything to replace it with.

The day slipped by quietly as the music of the woods played out carrying with it the full spirit of the Yule.  Even the meanest of predators seemed to rest on this day enhancing the harmony of the Yule Song.   Families of all kinds sensed the spirit of the day and joined in the melody knowing that on the morrow all would return to the familiar symphony of life.  Grruf and his family, being Trolls, were drawn into the dance and the hours slipped by until the sun hung low in the sky.  The deepening shadows gave an soothing peacefulness to the days end.  Grit and Pook, worn from the day sat quietly near the cooking fire supping on the remains of the vast pot of stew Chunka had made.

Grruf stood at the edge of the cleared area near his cave and watched his family with a joy in his heart that only the simplest and most giving of hearts could understand.  He would not have noted the change of scent in the air if it had not been so familiar.  A rustle behind him caused him to turn as a brown and fawn colored head emerged from the brush.  Clamped tightly in the teeth of the arriving hare was a rope that it pulled on steadily along with another whiter and slightly younger hare.   When the pair saw the troll they stopped abruptly and vanished into the underbrush bringing a smile to Grruf’s face.

“It okay family of Hare Blender.  I full, not eat you.”

The two heads popped out and vanished again.  When a head came out the next time it was followed by a stiff and much older body.  Grruf recognized the wound and knelt to be nearer the injured rabbit.  Moments later five other hares had joined him including Blender’s wife White Ear.

“Hello Hare.  You are well?” greeted Grruf.

“Better, thanks to you.”  said the Hare.  “I wanted to thank you again and bring you a gift for saving my life.  My wife did not want me to come but I insisted.  The only thing I could think of is a piece of the old tree near my hole.  It is dried and perfect for a Yule fire.  I know you have burned yours for this year but you can save it for next year.  One of the children picked up his rope holding it a little higher for Grruf to reach.  The Troll took it and pulled drawing out a long, slightly charred piece of wood.  Nodding he picked it up and sniffed it.  The Yule log smelled of life and of hare and of family.  He did not even wonder how they had obtained it, believing in the magic of the Yule as he always had. 

“This good thing.  Gruff glad.  You good hare.  Gruff not eat any hare that not old or sick and ready to go on.”

The family of hares relaxed.

 “I will tell my kind that when they are old they must come to you for a final service of life that the circle might be fulfilled.  I would rather they go this way, than to feed the unappreciative.” said Blender. 

“That good.  I glad I help.  You rest here tonight.  Warm fur by fire. I burn log tonight.  It sweet. You think of home.   Morning I walk you home.  Not let others hurt you.” said Grruf.  You not be scared.  I tell my children  play soft.”

Blender closed his eyes briefly then looked at his wife.  “That would be nice.”