Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback

signs of them. He would go out with a wolf partner, moving through

the forest silently, looking for signs of troll activity: their camps, their tracks, their spoor. The Wolf Guard kept detailed information on the trolls who lived in the mountains. In summer, they seldom came down far enough to threaten the villages on the slopes. But in winter, they would send raiding parties for all the things they could not produce themselves: bread and cheese and beer, fabrics and jewels, sometimes even children they could raise as their own, for troll women do not bear many children. Ivan learned the forest quickly, just as he had at home, and the wolves in his Company, who had initially been politely contemptuous of a human in their midst, came to think of him as a useful member of the pack. He could not smell as well as they could, nor see as well at night, but he could climb trees, and pull splinters out of their paws, and soon he was as good at tracking the trolls as they were. They were always respectful to Blanchefleur. One day, he asked her what she did while he was out with the wolves. “Mind my own business,” she said. So he did not ask again.

As for Ivan, being a scout in the Wolf Guard was like finding a

home. He had learned so much in Professor Owl’s tower, and he had

come to love the lizards in his charge, but with the wolves he was

back in the forest, where he had spent his childhood. And the wolves themselves were like a family. When Graypaw or Mist, with whom he was most often paired, praised his ability to spot troll tracks, or when the Captain said “Well done, Private,” he felt a pride that he had never felt before.

”You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy,” said

Blanchefleur, one winter morning. The snows had come, and he

was grateful for the hat and gloves Mrs. Pebbles had included in his satchel.

“I don’t think I ever have been, before,” he said. “Not since—”

Since his mother had died. Since then, he had always been alone. But now he had a pack. “I think I could stay here for the rest of my life.”

? 368 ?

? Theodora Goss ?

“We seldom get what we want,” said Blanchefleur. “The world has

a use for us, tasks we must fulfill. And we must fulfill them as best we can, finding happiness along the way. But we usually get what we need.”

“I’ve never heard you so solemn before,” said Ivan. “You’re starting to sound like your mother. But I don’t think the world has any tasks for me. I’m no one special, after all.”

“Don’t be so sure, Ivan Miller,” said Blanchefleur.

Suddenly, all the wolves in the cave pricked up their ears.

“The signal!” said the Captian.

And then Ivan heard it too, the long howl that signaled a troll raid, the short howls that indicated which village was being attacked.

“To the village!” shouted the Captain.

“Be careful!” said Blanchefleur, as Ivan sprang up, made sure his

knife was in his belt, and ran out of the cave with the wolves. Then they were coursing through the forest, silent shadows against the snow.

They saw the flames and heard the screams before they saw any

trolls. The village was a small one, just a group of herding families on the upper slopes. Their houses were simple, made of stone, with turf roofs. But the sheds were of wood, filled with fodder for the sturdy mountain sheep. The trolls had set fire to the fodder, and some of the sheds were burning. The sheep were bleating terribly, and as wolves rushed into the village, the Captain shouted to Ivan, “Open the pens!

Let the sheep out—we can herd them back later.”

Ivan ran from pen to pen, opening all the gates. Mist ran beside

him and if any sheep were reluctant to leave their pens, she herded them out, nipping at their heels.