Tale Weaver Fairy Tales: Berjlot the Wolf #fairytales #fiction #taleweaver


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this month’s fairy Tale prompt. The prompt is: “imagine an evil force be it witch or some other dark force has cast a spell on you. What form does the spell take, are you frozen in time as in the above image? Are you cursed in a different way?”


frog-taleweavers
Michael – Tale Weavers Fairy Tale

http://www.photobucket.com
Berjlot was a pretty girl with her father’s white-blond hair and her mother’s curls. She also had her mother’s mysterious green-eyes and delighted the entire viking village with her presence.

Asta, Berljot’s mother, had been in labour for hours the night Berjlot was born. The baby wouldn’t come out so Astab finally told her husband Bjarke that he must allow the midwife to cut her belly open and save their babe.

Bjarke felt great pain in his heart when his wife asked him to do allow the midwife to cut the baby out. But he knew he could not lose both Asta and the baby and survive himself.

Cutting the baby out (a much worse version of a c-section) was newer concept which the village midwife had suggested hesitantly. There wasn’t anything to help Asta from the pain but some whiskey. She drank all she could and screamed in pain as her baby Berjlot was born.

Asta named her child Berjlot or “Light will save,” and soft light was exactly what Asta saw as she entered Valhalla. She bled out before the midwife could attempt to stitch her up. Chances were Asta would have died from infection anyways. 

Bjarke held his little girl Berjlot proudly. She was his and Asta’s last child, her four-older brother’s were nearly men. But the baby girl was a light to her father and helped him survive the loss of his wife Asta (“divine beauty”).


Bjarke whose name meant “bear” was indeed, built like a bear and so were his four sons. They helped their father fell logs. Bjarke was now considered an older man and he would need the help of his son’s to survive. 

He had a been a great ship builder but was now arthritic and in pain. He spent most of his time keeping his eye on little Berjlot who spent her days enchanting those around her, a light to the entire community. 

Some of the other women taught Berjlot the necessities of life as a viking woman. Berljot seemed to easily learn how to sew and cooked delicious meals. She also helped with the shearing of sheep and weaving clothe. 

Berjlot’s mother Asta, had also been an accomplished artisan so Berjlot learned the craft of jewelry making from an old women in the village named Ragna (“giving advice”).

As well as crafting fine jewelry, Ragna was a medicine women and a pagan witch. Most people were afraid to be near her but Berjlot had no choice as she was the only other women who knew her mother Asta’s craft of jewelry making.

She was a talented girl and Ragna, seeing her youth, beauty, and the skill with which Berjlot seemed to accomplish every task, became seethingly jealous of the girl. Even at her young age and artisan skill level, Berljot’s jewelry was sought after. 

She was only ten-summers but Ragna was envious of the girl she knew would grow up to be a beautiful woman and likely out rank her being from a powerful family. 

The witch had always despised the girl’s mother Asta for her goddess-like beauty and her gift of creating beautiful jewelry of better quality than Ragna’s designs. 

One day when Berjlot had a cough, Ragna,  playing the kindly old woman she always played around Berjlot said to her:

“Poor dear, I will make you a potion which will rid of you of your awful cough. We can’t have it get into your lungs. Bjarke would be devastated if he lost his only daughter.”

Berjlot accepted the purplish potion Ragna wanted her to drink. It smelled awful and smoke whirled from the earthen cup but the girl drank the potion trusting Ragna as her Oma. 

Suddenly, Berjlot hiccuped. She felt a strange sensation as her body changed from that of girl into a stunning light-haired wolf. She knew her father and brothers would never recognize her in this form and so did Ragna.

Berjlot cried the tears of a wolf and old Ragna laughed at her. She made it appear as if a  wolf had eaten Berjlot.

“Bjarke,” Ragna cried. “A light-haired wolf ate your daughter. See? I have her bloodied and torn dress here. There was nothing I could do.” Ragna wept and made it appear as if she was broken-hearted at losing Berjlot.

Bjarke was devastated. Berjlot was the light of his life and his health failed rapidly after losing his daughter. He was soon set out down the nearby river in his funeral pier set aflame to join his wife Asta. 

Bjarke’s oldest son Dag took over the boat building business with his three brothers and his best friend Asmund (“Divine Protection”). After they had spent time in mourning for their father they and the other men from their settlement,  went into the woods and destroyed all the wolves they could find –even the pups. They never forgot about their little sister Berjlot who had brought such joy wherever she went.


Eight-years passed.  Dag, his three brothers, and Asmund were prosperous men in their viking community building ships and amassing a great amount of land and wealth. Asmund, in particular, was considered a fine catch for marriage but had not found a wife to his liking; Dag and his brothers had already married well.

Asmund was out walking in the forest one night when he saw the most striking female wolf beneath a tree in the moonlight. She had mossy green-eyes which were extremely unusual for a wild animal such as a wolf.

He was surprised when the wolf jumped on him when he wasn’t paying attention. He was set to bring his small ax down on the wolf when she lay down on top of him gently and peered at him with sad eyes. She talked as wolves did, pawing at him, trying to get Asmund to understand something through her barks. He laughed and petted the beautiful wolf as she slept on him. 

The next morning Asmund awoke and the wolf was gone. He thought he’d only dreamed of her. When he went for a walk in the forest several nights later, he again saw the same beautiful wolf.

She playfully tackled him to the ground and barked at him, trying to make him understand her wolf song. When that failed, she lay her head beneath his chin, and slept on top of him as before.

The light-haired and green-eyed wolf barked and slept with Asmund every night he came out into the woods, always burying her nose under his chin.

One night, Ragna the old witch noticed Asmund asleep with the wolf she knew was Berjlot, snuggled half on top of him. The witch plotted to kill Berjlot once and for all and told Berjlot’s oldest brother Dag about the strange looking wolf she’d seen around the forest. 

Dag and his younger brothers went to find and kill Berjlot the following night with Asmund. But when they found the wolf with the light-fur and moss green- eyes,  Asmund begged them not to kill her.

He told Dag the light-haired wolf had become his pet and was docile. Berjlot approached her brother Dag and bowed, she did any trick her brother or his bestfriend Asmund told her to do.

When wicked Ragna saw the brothers had not killed Berjlot in wolf form (and instead, were going to adopt her as a kind of pet) she ran out to kill Berjlot with her sharpest knife. Ragna poisoned the tip of the knife so even if it nicked Berjlot the wolf, it would kill her.

Dag, his three brothers, and Asmund were shocked to see the old witch after the wolf they had befriended. They caught and disarmed Ragna before she harmed the wolf. When Ragna was disarmed she turned to run back to her cottage but Berjlot jumped on her, tearing out the witches throat.

 Immediately,  the light-haired green-eyed wolf turned into a young woman of about eighteen. She was beautiful with her long wavy-blond hair, exotic green eyes, and white skin. Dag’s three younger brothers immediately recognized their sister from her moss green-eyes.

 “Berjlot is that you?” They asked, overjoyed to see their sister alive.

“Yes it’s me,”Berjlot said crying. She hugged her brothers, including Dag. They were a bit sensitive about her being naked with Asmund around. He generously gave Berjlot his cloak to cover herself with. 

“The witch Ragna pretended to be my Oma,” she told the men gathered. “Ragna was jealous that I was prettier than her, and that our mother Asta was prettier than her too. She hated that I did all my tasks well, especially jewelry making. When I had a cough, she gave me a steaming purple potion. I trusted her and drank the potion and she turned me into a wolf.” 

“That’s terrible,” Dag shouted, angry for his sister. “Your death is the reason our father became ill and died. I’m sure the gods are pleased you ripped out the witch’s throat.”

Berjlot sobbed upon hearing about her father’s death. When Asmund comforted her with a hand on her shoulder, she looked up at him with adoration in her eyes.

“I was almost killed when the men from the village wiped out all the wolves but somehow I thrived, even as a wolf. I thought I would always be a wolf until I saw Asmund one night.” Berjlot blushed when she said Asmund’s name.

“Each night Asmund came out to the forest, I pounced on him and tried to tell him what happened to me, but my words only came out as barks or noises as a dog would make. But he kept coming back almost every night and I slept with my nose snuggled beneath his chin.”

“Is this true?” Dag asked his best friend whose face reddened when he gazed at Berjlot in his cloak.

“Yes, it’s true,” Asmund admitted. “I fell for Berjlot. Somehow the gods made me see how noble and beautiful she was even as a wolf. She’s an even more beautiful woman then she was a wolf.” 

“I would be honored if you would allow your best friend and partner in business, to be a husband to your beloved sister,” Asmund asked. To him Berjlot was a light he could not live without in his life. He loved her as a wolf and more so as a woman. 

Dag and his brother’s huddled together talking while Berjlot stared anxiously at Asmund. She came up to him and snuggled her head beneath his chin, showing her affection and gaining Asmund’s comfort. 

“At last, I get to see you in my human form,” Berjlot told Asmund. Both lovers were overcome and wanted to do much more than stand not touching but for Berjlot’s hair cushioning Asmund’s chin.

Dag and his three other brother’s broke from their meeting with happiness. They agreed Asmund would be the perfect husband for their sister because he loved her and watched out for her, even when she was only a beautiful wolf. Thus, they set the betrothal date to that moment and day.

Asmund offered up sheep for wool and jewels as a dowry for Berjlot and they married in a magnificent ceremony in the village. The gods had allowed Berjlot to return from the dead and for two powerful families to be joined in marriage with days of feasting and celebration for the whole community.

Both Asmund and Berjlot lived happily ever after (as best as you could in that time and place). 


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

 

 

Writing 101: Poem – Free Verse – “A Day is A Life Time.” #everydayinspiration


The prompt for Writing 101 today is to write about an event that takes place in a single day. Also, I will be including The Daily Post word prompts Phase, Dream, and Grain. I’m trying something with poetry and I hope the result isn’t tedious.

——

It started in the morning ending at —

Evening; children who were born with —

A scream on their lips, removed from —

The womb; swaddled in blankets.

——

Life is a day and each day we spend —

One single day, representing —

A lifetime; not knowing each day —

Could end in a moments glance. 

—–

Babe once born, phase into toddler, 

Sucking on bottles, weened off.

Already, personality —

Forming; individual who tantrums.

—–

Couldn’t get her way playing in her —

Pre-school; no hitting allowed there. 

Prepares her for kindergarten, 

Where she better know her typing.

——

To write her name proudly with her,

Markers scribbling future —

Artist; parent’s dream but she’s holding —

Building blocks; then she’s finished–

—-

Being a kid, now screaming to —

Her brother, ‘stay out of my bed —

Room;’ texting her friends, their all —

Nearly sixteen, appearing twenty-one.

—–

She’s been drinking since thirteen-years, 

Not weird to her; she’s been there before.

Degree in engineering of —

Structures; dreams building stream-lined.

——

Caught the eye of a man where she works, 

He’s ten-years her senior at his —

Prime; another engineer, they’ve —

Two kids, girl and a boy, on their —

——

Own journeys; and she’s divorced.

Only thirty-five, raising teenagers, 

Tiring of her career; her daughter–

Pregnant; along comes grandchildren.

—–

She’s only forty and remarries, 

Her true soul mate she says, kids hate —

Him; replacing father they never see, 

Grandma raising baby of her daughter.

——-

Mom is forty-five; son marries girl,

A beautiful blond, into fine art.

Mom doesn’t like her; girl’s a phase.

Son has three kids and stays married.

——

Daughter won’t talk; sends home one more —

Squalling infant for Grandma to —

Care for and work too; step-Opa glad, 

Never had kids, he loves his grandbabies.

——

The grandbabies grow and she’s pushing —

Sixty-five-years; grandkids moving —

Out; hoping they do better than her —

Sweet daughter; dead, needle marks proof.

——

She wants to travel, she’s been all —

Over the world but only for work.

So Oma and Opa see the —

World divine; slowing down in life.

——

She teaches, a class or two for —

Dumb first-year engineer students, 

Doesn’t know how they’ll fill her shoes, 

But they’ve all this technology.

—–

Eighty-six and she’s alone; her soul —

Mate, he passed away; time speeds through, 

She has a dog that keeps her happy, 

But she out-lives the dog as well.

—–

Grains of sand sifting, her time comes, 

In hospital they can’t believe she’s, 

One-hundred-and-one; she dies with —

Great-grandkids crying for their Oma.

—-

This, is a lifetime you say not —

One single day, but you don’t see,

How with such quickness, a lifetime —

Is reduced to one significant —

One magnimounous little, 

Day before God; finally, wandering home.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Why Don’t You Love Me?


Dear Dad,

 “I know it’s only been three weeks” but Mom says she doesn’t know when you’re coming back. She tries not to cry in front of me but I know when she is crying because her mascara runs and her face turns red. Mom lays in bed and I don’t know what to do.

I tried laying beside her and rubbing her back. I tried making her soup (from the can) but I can’t make her eat. She doesn’t get up to make supper much or clean. I’m trying to help out but it’s hard, I have homework too and I’m only nine-years-old. I don’t get to play with my friends anymore, there is too much to do.

I had to ask Oma Jane and Opa Paul for your email. I phoned them and told them what happened. On the weekend I go to their house. Oma sends me home with food for the week that I can microwave. She yelled at Mom to ‘get up,’ but I got mad at Oma and I hit her. I told Oma Google said Mom is depressed. 

Before you left, I heard you fighting with Mom. You got mad at her and then she cried and you shouted at her loudly. Mom is trying her best like me. Oma isn’t sure if you’re ever coming back. Where are you Dad, how come you never answer my emails? You used to call me everyday from work. Don’t you love us? What did I do? Why don’t you love me?

Jessica 

——

Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

——

 

http://www.publicdomainarchive.com
 
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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.