Winter's Tales by Lari Don Page B

Follow me to Copenhagen, to live a life of gold and warmth and comfort.”
    The snow bear looked around at the hard cold silver ice, then she sat down on her bottom and refused to move.
    Lars pulled on her iron chain and told her all about the wonders of the palace, the generosity of the king and the splendours of the city. None of which he had seen, all of which he had dreamed about.
    But she sat firmly on her large white bottom and wouldn’t move. And a snow bear is very heavy if she doesn’t want to move.
    Lars kept tugging, chatting cheerfully about the king’s palace and dangling raw meat in front of her.
    Eventually the snow bear shrugged, stood up and followed Lars.
    And they walked together over the ice, then through forests, to the mountains and water of the lands where it is not winter all year round. But as they walked south, it became winter there too, as if the bear had brought the snow with her.
    They walked through the frosty mountains, Lars hunting for food for them both.
    When they reached the farmlands at the edge of the mountains, a blizzard began. The cold howling storm didn’t bother the bear at all, but Lars was getting tired, his boots were wearing thin, and it was taking longer than he thought to reach the king’s palace.
    Through the swirls of snow, he saw the lights of a farmhouse. He and the snow bear walked up to the door, pushing against the wind and snow, and Lars knocked.
    A farmer and his daughter opened the door.
    â€œCan we shelter with you tonight, please?” asked Lars.
    The farmer shook his head. “I’m sorry.Even though this is Christmas Eve, we can’t welcome guests.”
    Lars said, “Are you worried about the bear? She’ll be fine. She’s on her way to be the king’s snow bear, and she’s been as gentle as a kitten all the way here.”
    The bear smiled, showing all her teeth. The farmer backed away, but his daughter smiled, at the bear and at Lars.
    â€œNo,” said the daughter, “it’s not the bear. It’s the trolls. It’s Christmas Day tomorrow, and the trolls will come and eat our Christmas feast. They break in every year, wreck our furniture, rip our curtains and attack anyone who stays in the house. So we leave them our feast to distract them from destroying the house completely, and we hide in the mountains until they’ve gone. You can come with us to the mountains, if you like.”
    Lars sighed. “I’ve just walked through the mountains. I don’t want to go back. Anyway, I’m not scared of trolls and neither is this bear. We’ll stay here and show them what happens to trolls who ruin a family’s Christmas.”
    So the farmer and his daughter went to their freezing cold hiding place, leaving Lars and the bear in the house, with a huge Christmas feast piled on the kitchen table.
    The travellers were both tired, so Lars curled up in a corner and the snow bear curled up under the table, and they went to sleep.
    Then the clock on the mantelpiece ticked round to midnight, and the trolls arrived. Eight huge, green-skinned, warty-nosed, hairy-handed, pot-bellied trolls with incredibly stinky feet crashed through the door. Lars slid deeper into the shadows, more scared of trolls than he’d admitted.
    The trolls slumped down round the table, they slobbered and snottered all over the food, they held burping contests and sang rude songs, and they prodded each other with cutlery and bones.

    Then the wartiest troll looked under the table. “Oi! Look! A pretty white cat! I wonder what roast cat tastes like?” The troll prodded at the white animal with a long spoon.
    The bear opened one eye.
    The troll prodded her again.
    The bear stood up.
    As she stood, the table and the feast rose up on her shoulders. When she straightened her spine, the table and the feast slid down her fur and crashed onto the floor.
    The bear reached her full huge height and roared.
    She