Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [13]
“But they’re vermin,” Rollo reminded her. “If they get in the house, they’ll chew holes in things and eat our food.”
“Well, this one isn’t in the house. It’s outside. And it belongs outside.” The lass put her hands on her hips and tapped her booted foot. “Rollo.”
Heaving a huge sigh, the wolf opened his paws and the little mouse staggered away. Its nose was twitching so fast that it was a blur, and it kept stopping every few steps to sway, as if faint. Taking pity on it, the girl bent over and gently scooped it up, then put it down just at the mouth of the little hole where it lived with its family.
Sighing again, Rollo stood up, shook out his thick pelt, and wandered nonchalantly over to the woodpile to sniff at the kindling that Hans Peter was stacking. “A lot of wood” was his comment.
“He says that it’s a lot of wood,” the lass reported.
Hans Peter brandished a stick at the wolf. “You’re the one who told the lass a storm was coming.”
Rollo made the little yipping noise that stood for yes. He and the lass had managed to work out some signals for Hans Peter, so that he could, to a certain extent, understand the wolf. Jarl thought it most clever of his daughter and her pet, and he himself would speak to the wolf often, and try to interpret his answers. Frida thought the situation unnatural, though, so Hans Peter and the lass made it a point to treat Rollo as they would any other dog whenever Frida was around. Rollo understood, and played the part of the goofy mutt for Frida. He would chew on old slippers and whine at the door whenever there was a noise outside, even though he didn’t like the taste of slipper and knew full well that it was only the wind.
“It’s an awful lot of wood, and outside,” Rollo said, and the lass translated. “I don’t think you’ll need this much, but some of it should be inside, so that you can get to it.”
“I see.” Hans Peter looked at the pile. “Does he know how high the snow will be? Or how long the storm will last?”
“Deep and long,” the lass translated. “But how deep or how long he isn’t sure. But he thinks that it will not be as bad as the storm his first winter.”
“Well, that’s a blessing at least,” Hans Peter said with a grunt. He was transferring the wood to a large canvas sling so that it could be carried into the house.
Sixth months after Rolf Simonson had brought the lass the pup, a blizzard had come down on their valley. For ten days the family huddled in their cottage, praying for the snow to stop. When it did, it was higher than the roof of their cottage, and it was another week before they could tunnel their way across the yard and check on the reindeer. Jarl made his living cutting down the large trees deep in the forest, but it had been over a month before it was safe enough to return to his work. They’d had to kill three reindeer to make up for the loss of income. No one living could remember a storm as terrible, and it had made even Frida cross herself and mutter about trolls as they dug their way to the barn.
Now the lass hurried to load a sling of firewood. Rather than flinging it around to her back as her brother did, though, she simply slid hers along the hard-packed snow to the front door. They both kicked their boots against the doorframe as they went in, to knock off the snow, and Rollo daintily shook his feet before stepping onto Frida’s clean-swept floor.
They had timed their entrance right: the last of the candles was cooling on the table, and the herbs had been put away. The lass sneezed three times in quick succession and hurried to make dinner.
As the first snowflakes fell, they were sitting down to eat when the door to the cottage suddenly banged open to reveal a huge, white, furry creature. Frida shrieked, and the lass leaped backward off her bench. Rollo sprang from his position by the fire and stood between the people and the monster in the doorway, hackles raised, and snarled.
With a guffaw, the fur-clad figure pulled aside the high collar obscuring its face. It was Askeladden,