prompt: Write a fairy tale about an outsider trying to fit in.
available at Reedsy
Back when the world was young, the morning skies promised adventurers excitement in undiscovered lands. Hilda, a tall, stout woman, dressed in nothing more than a loose tunic and short trousers, was one of those adventurers, having traveled years, far from her home in the north.
She hadn’t wanted to be an adventurer at first. Her people kicked her out for her love of dancing, and every other place she visited wanted nothing to do with her. Over the years, though, she had grown to enjoy her adventures. At this time, however, she was tired and hungry and needed a place to regain her strength, and thus, found herself on the outskirts of a village.
The people of this area were smaller and fairer than Hilda; quick and slender, and given to much dancing. Knowing this, she worried how she would be received, wishing she too, could dance with them. Hilda fashioned a hooded cape from her travel blankets and pulled it close around herself. She bent her knees and stooped as far as she could to appear short like the villagers and so, made her way to the market.
As she passed the villagers, they carefully made way for her and greeted her politely. She nodded at them in what she hoped was a friendly enough gesture.
At the market, Hilda spoke as softly as she could to hide her gruff voice, and ordered what was, for her, a light lunch. “I’d like one of the roasted hens, a basket of greens, and a loaf of rye bread, please.”
The vendor looked at Hilda, and then at the rising sun. “Venerable lady,” he said, believing her to be ancient by her stooped posture, “it’s a warm morning. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable loosening your cloak?”
“Oh no,” she said, “my customs require modesty, and I must stay covered at all times.”
The man gathered her food and waited for payment. In order to avoid showing her large, dark hands, she said, “Take the money from the purse that hangs at my waist, plus an extra copper for your trouble, and put my goods in the sack. I lost my gloves and cannot expose my bare hands.”
He took the money he was owed and put her purchases in the sack she carried over her shoulder. “I hope you enjoy that meal with your friends,” he said, “as it seems you have enough for four. My name is Henri. If you require anything else, ask for me by name.”
“Thank you, Henri,” she said. “I am Hilda. Do you know where I might find a room?”
“Priscilla, the shepherdess who lives at the end of this road, has a spare room,” he said, “for a low price. Tell her I sent you.”
“Thank you again, and I hope your day is profitable and as pleasant as you are,” she said.
Hilda made her way to the end of the road, her stooped posture tiring her and making her joints ache. At the end of the road she found a cottage next to a field where sheep grazed. A broken-down barn, fallen fences, and overgrown brush marked the edges of the field.
While she was trying to decide how she would pay for lodging, the shepherdess approached. “Hello, grandmother,” she said.
“Good morning, Priscilla. Henri sent me,” Hilda said. “My name is Hilda and I have travelled far.”
“Are you in need of a place to rest?”
“I am,” she answered.
“Are you not over-warm in that heavy cloak?” Priscilla asked.
“My customs require modesty, and I must take care to stay covered at all times.”
“You can sleep in the loft. It’s two coppers a night, unless you can clear the brushes from the field,” she said with a wink.
“I can clear them,” Hilda said, “but I must do it at night, and no one may watch me, for I fear for my modesty.”
Priscilla seemed unsure but agreed to let Hilda clear the field that night. “There’s a shovel in the barn you can use,” she said.
Hilda went into the cottage and up to the loft, which creaked and groaned under her weight. In short time she had finished the chicken, greens, and bread. The bed was far too small, but she lay down curled up to sleep until the middle of the night.
Rising when she was certain Priscilla was sound asleep, Hilda made her way out to the field. Once there, she removed her cloak and stood up straight. With large, clawed hands she ripped the brush out of the edges of the field, all the way to the woods. She was about to return to the cottage when she spied a wolf sneaking toward the sheep.
Hilda pounced on the wolf and tore its heart out with one swipe. She left the wolf carcass with the pile of brush and snuck back into the cottage.
When Priscilla woke, she found the wolf with the pile of brush. “She must have used the shovel to kill it,” she thought. She left a few coppers on the table with a note to Hilda that it was payment for ridding her of the wolf.
Hilda returned to the market, to buy another meal from Henri. “Henri, it is a pleasure to see you again,” she said.
“You as well, grandmother. I had a very profitable day yesterday, indeed. I believe it was the smile you put on my face that made my customers happy.”
They repeated the previous day’s exchange, Henri taking the money from her purse and putting the goods in her sack. This time, she told him to take two coppers for his trouble.
Hilda sweated terribly under the heavy cloak, but she dared not reveal herself for fear of not being accepted. “If you are interested in a wolf pelt,” she said, “Priscilla has one from a wolf that was threatening her sheep. She would probably part with it for few coppers.”
“Thank you for the news, Hilda,” Henri said, smiling broadly. “I’ll collect it later today. Enjoy your day.”
Back at the shepherdess’ cottage, Priscilla offered the room for two coppers, or for repairing the fences.
Hilda looked at the fences. “I can fix them, tonight. But no one must see me work, as I fear for my modesty.”
“Of course,” Priscilla said. “There’s a hammer in the barn you can use, along with nails, posts, and rails.”
That night, when she was certain Priscilla was asleep, Hilda snuck out of the cottage. She gathered the nails, posts, and rails, and carried them out to the field in one large bundle. Working as fast as she could, she tore the rotting posts out of the ground by hand and replaced them with the new posts, pounding them into the ground with a single strike from her fist. With her thumb she pushed the nails in to hold the rails in place.
She was returning the left-over nails to the barn when she saw another wolf sniffing around the field. She pounced on it and smashed its head with one blow from her fist. Hilda left the wolf with the pile of old posts and rails and snuck back into bed.
The following morning, Priscilla found the wolf and thought, “She must have killed it with the hammer.” Again, she left a few coppers on the table for Hilda.
When Hilda returned to the market, Henri had her food ready to go, along with a bundle of cloth. “Lady Hilda,” he said, “I know you value your modesty, but that cloak cannot be comfortable in these warm lands. Please, take this gift.”
The bundle of cloth was a cloak and gloves in a lightweight linen. Hilda wished she could show her smile to kind man. “Thank you, Henri. You are too kind. And with your cooking skills, you must be the catch of the village.”
“It’s a small thing,” he said, “and I need room to start gathering furs for winter.”
“Priscilla has another wolf pelt she would probably sell you for a few coppers.”
“Thank you, Hilda. I’ll check with her later today,” he said, his smile threatening to extend beyond his face.
Hilda returned with her bundle and changed into the light cloak. It hid her as well as her heavy cloak. The gloves were far too small, but she could put just her fingertips and claws in, and by being very careful could make it seem like her hands peeking out from the cloak.
That afternoon, Priscilla offered the room for two coppers, or the repair of the barn.
“I’ll repair the barn,” Hilda said. “But no one must watch, for I fear for my modesty.”
“Of course,” Priscilla said. “I am curious how an old, bent woman with such a soft voice like yourself can do such heavy work, but I will respect your customs. There are nails, a hammer, planks, and a saw in the barn.”
That night, Hilda snuck out to fix the barn. She cut the planks to length with a sharp claw and pushed the nails in with her thumb. In no time at all the barn looked fresh and new, and the old planks were piled next to it.
Another wolf crept into the field, moving slowly toward the sheep. Once again, Hilda pounced, and with her claws cut its head clean off. She left the carcass next to the old planks and snuck back into bed.
When Priscilla found the wolf in the morning she thought, “She must have used the saw to kill it.” Again, she left a few coppers for Hilda on the table.
Hilda collected her coppers and went to the market in her new cloak and gloves. Despite not overheating, the stooped posture and bent knees were taking their toll on her.
Henri greeted her with her lunch, packed up and ready to go. “I see you wore your new cloak,” he said. “It looks far more comfortable.”
“It is, Henri. I can’t thank you enough.” She carefully handed him coppers for her meal, plus three extra, and took the bundle from him. “Priscilla has another wolf pelt,” she said.
“I’ll go round and collect it this afternoon,” he said. “The big village dance is tonight. Will you join us?”
“I love to dance,” she said. She realized, however, that she would be unable to dance while stooped over and hunched. “But, I’ll have to see.”
“If your joints are too tired, there’s always a warm place by the fire to sit and listen to the music,” he said.
“We shall see,” Hilda said, then returned to the cottage.
“I do not have any work for you tonight,” Priscilla said, “but if you’ll come to our village dance, I will let you sleep in the loft another night.”
Hilda considered it. Priscilla and Henri had been nothing but kind, and the other villagers she passed in the market each day shared that trait. “It would be an honor,” she said.
The entire village turned out for the dance, held in Priscilla’s newly rebuilt barn. Musicians played a lively jig and the villagers danced and frolicked. Hilda wanted so to join them, but there was no way she could without showing herself, so she sat by the fire and tapped her toe to the rhythm.
It was during the late hours of the night, the party still in full swing, when a clamor arose from the edge of the woods. A boy ran into the barn, shouting, “It’s an army! Come to raid!”
“What will we do?” Henri asked. “They’ll take all my goods!”
“And all my sheep!” Priscilla added.
“There’s no use,” the mayor said. “We can’t fight them! We’ll have to give them what they want.”
Hilda threw off the cloak and gloves and rose to her full height, her gray-green skin shining in the firelight, and her long tusks gleaming. “No!” she exclaimed in her full, gravelly voice. “I wouldn’t let the wolves take Priscilla’s sheep; I won’t let these dogs either.”
She ran out of the barn, her steps thunderous, and yelled defiantly at the soldiers, “Come try to take it! I dare you!”
The villagers stood stunned as she slashed and pummeled the entire army with her bare hands, sparing only the cooks, the medic, the drummer boy, and the animals. An ogre had been staying among them for days, but they didn’t know.
“She’s an ogre, she should go!” the fiddler exclaimed.
“No!” Henri and Priscilla said at the same time.
“She has been helpful,” Priscilla said, “clearing my fields, fixing my fences, killing the wolves that would take my sheep, and repairing this barn. And she has been nothing but polite.”
“This is true,” Henri said. “She has been an absolute delight each day in the market.”
“We should not shun someone just because of their looks,” the mayor said. “If she wishes to stay, she is welcome as long she would like.”
Hilda had been listening to all this and smiled. She did like the idea of staying in the village for a while, at least.
“If she wishes to join us,” the mayor said, “she can join in this next dance!” The mayor signaled for the band to start back up and the people began dancing again.
Overjoyed, Hilda joined in, her steps light and agile despite her huge size. They danced until the early hours of the morning, then Hilda went out to clean up the battle site. She built a huge pyre with the old slats, posts, and rails, and used the brush for kindling. She gave a reverent funeral for the fallen soldiers. The cooks, medic, and drummer boy were offered a wagon and an ass to leave if they chose, but having been pressed into service, they all chose to stay.
In the morning, Henri and the mayor came out to talk to Hilda. “I see the army left fourteen horses, six asses, two oxen, and four wagons,” the mayor said. “Those are yours, as the spoils of combat.”
“I have no need of any of them,” she said, “but would like a place to build a shelter where I can stay when I am not adventuring.”
“The land between my field and the forest, which you cleared the first night,” Priscilla said, “belongs to no one. I’m sure the mayor would let you claim it and homestead there.”
“Yes,” he said, “that is now your land. Do you need help building your house?”
“I can do it myself,” she said, “though I would like to trade these animals for some milk goats, a few hens, and a bed.”
“I can make a bed big enough for you, with a blanket and pillow,” said the carpenter, “for one of the wagons.”
“I can provide six goats for one of the asses,” said the goat farmer.
“I will give you eight hens,” said the fiddler, “if you can but accept my apology. I was wrong.”
“I do accept your apology and will give you an ass as a sign of good faith.”
Despite her protestations, the entire village stayed to help her build her house. The sawyer provided all the lumber she needed in exchange for one of the oxen. The blacksmith provided the nails in trade for a promise of the first cheese she made from the milking goats. Others provided labor, and a large lunch for everyone on the promise of Hilda not leaving too soon.
So it was that in one day Hilda’s cozy cottage, and pens to hold her goats and hens were completed. The furniture maker brought the bed in his new wagon, and she had the first comfortable sleep in days.
She stayed until she had traded away the last of the spoils, then met with Henri in the market. “I must go adventuring,” she said, “but I will return before the new moon.”
“I had something to give you,” he said, “but if you must go, take this with you for good luck.” Henri gave her a ring he’d had made, large enough to fit her massive finger, yet still delicate in its design.
“Is this a declaration?” she asked.
“It is,” Henri said, “if you would have me. If not, keep it anyways, as my feelings will remain unchanged.”
“Why?” she asked.
“When you were hiding who you were, you were polite enough,” he said, “but no one could tell anything more about you. Now that you are yourself, you are a wonderful woman, ogre or no, and any woman who can dance the way you do is the woman for me.”
“You will have your answer when I return from my adventure,” she said, her heart light.
When she returned from her adventure bearing a sack of gold and dragon scales, she married Henri, and he moved into her cottage. There she lived to the end of her days, bar the occasional adventure, repairing fences and barns, clearing fields, killing wolves, chasing off raiding armies, and, once a month, dancing with the rest of the villagers in Priscilla’s barn.