The black beast

When spring finally arrived, preparations began for the annual market, an event traditionally reserved for Gudbrand and his sons.

But this year, Sigrid was determined it would be her turn. She had worked tirelessly alongside Åsmund in the barn through fall and winter, driven by a single dream: to use her hard-earned coins to finally buy a horse of her own.

Her mother, fierce and resolute, stood her ground, leaving no room for argument from either her father or her brothers.

The market was bustling with people of all ages.
The sun glared down from a clear sky, and the air was filled with the sweet and delightful scents of baked goods and perfumes.

Sigrid and Thora hurried to set up the stalls, and when they were done, Thora's mother gave them five pennies each. They ran happily to the other side of the grass, where some girls Thora knew were standing at the edge of the field, braiding flower crowns.

From there, she had a good view of both the stalls where her brothers stood and the horses. She planned to run off when the stall got busy.

"Look at that hair," said one of the older girls, who wore a large and colorful flower crown in her own dark and straight mane, as she giggled.

Sigrid's curly hair hung untamed and unruly over her shoulders.

"Shall I fix it for you?" The girl glanced at Sigrid, who had no chance to respond before the girl had already started.

The girl was quick and gentle, and suddenly Sigrid found herself standing with a beautiful braid, adorned with sprigs of flowers.

"How do you do it?" The other girls admired when she was done.

They smiled and laughed, continuing to braid their crowns while Sigrid tried to keep her focus on the horses.

Sigrid froze when one of the girls suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, look, here comes Ragnar!"

They started to giggle. "I've heard he has an older cousin who's even more handsome," said the eldest.

"Is that true?" Someone asked.

"Yes, I think he works as a knight for the king," she whispered.

Sigrid instinctively stepped back, shrinking into the group, hoping to blend into the shadows as Ragnar strode past.

But he stopped, his piercing gaze sweeping over the crowd until it landed on her. "Hiding from me, Sigrid Gudbrandsdatter?" He asked, his voice laced with amusement and challenge.

Her heart pounded, but she refused to let him see her falter. Slowly, deliberately, she stepped forward.

"Perhaps," she replied, her tone airy but laced with sharp sarcasm. "I was worried you might attempt another kiss."

For a brief moment, surprise flickered across Ragnar's face, but it was quickly replaced by his signature smirk. "Your hair looks different," he remarked, his tone laced with mockery. "And you've definitely grown more since last time," he added with a teasing glint in his eyes.

It worked. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, the feeling creeping up her spine. "Was there something you wanted?" She asked sharply, her patience thinning.

She cast a wary glance toward the stalls, anxiety tugging at her. If her father caught wind of her disobedience, there would be hell to pay.

"Just watch yourself, Sigrid Gudbrandsdatter. I see no sign of your wolf," he said and took a step forward, so that his light hair glinted in the sun.

"No, but I've brought my brothers and my father," she said, pointing to the stall.

"They don't scare me," Ragnar almost whispered and took another step forward.

"Ragnar!" Someone called from the crowd.

"Lucky for you," he smirked. "Duty calls. Ladies," he bowed before leaving.

The girls behind her hadn't said a word but started giggle and whispere among themselves as soon as he had vanished.

"Do you know Ragnar Erikson?"

"No," she dismissed.

"But he evidently knows you," said the eldest.

"We barely met him here..." Thora tried to explain.

"No," Sigrid heard herself snap angrily.

"My father and his are foes. He's only aiming to irritate me."

Before she could say more, a strong arm grabbed her from behind, causing her to startle in fear.

It was Sigurd, her eldest brother. He pulled her across the field as though she were a child.

"Why were you talking to Ragnar Erikson?" Sigurd demanded.

"What's it to you?" She snapped.

"I need to know!" He roared, drawing attention." Do you know who he is?"

"No. You never tell me anything."

"Thorstein, two years younger and Sigurd's shadow, came running up as well.
'What's going on here?'"

"Sigurd is acting strangely, as usual," she explained.

Sigurd hissed and held her tightly by the arms. "And what is that in your hair? You look utterly foolish!"

"All the girls have it, and it's you who looks foolish!" She retorted.

"Sigurd, calm down. The stalls are getting busy now. Come on."

Thorstein dragged their brother away reluctantly, and Sigrid immediately sank down into the field.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She was so furious!

"Is everything well?" She heard Thora's voice.

"Y-yes, I'm coming," she hurried to wipe away her tears.

She rose after a short while.

Nodding to the girls, she strode purposefully toward the line of horses.

When she reached them, she paused, planting her hands firmly on her hips. Her gaze traveled over the animals, slow and measured, scrutinizing each one with a sharp, deliberate eye, as though weighing their every strength and flaw.

"That one," she said, pointing to the black stallion, the largest and most magnificent of them all.

"That one is not for sale," came a voice.

Sigrid turned, her gaze falling upon a small, weathered man who peered out from behind the row of horses. His face was lined with age, his eyes sharp but cautious.

"Why not?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Because it's wild," he replied, stepping closer, his tone grave.

"Then why is it here?" She pressed, her curiosity piqued.

"Because the owner wishes to give it away to someone who can ride it."

"Give it away?" She echoed, her brows lifting in surprise.

"Yes."

"Then let me try!"

"Absolutely not," he shuddered.

"Please!" She pleaded, determination lighting her eyes.

"You wouldn't believe how many have tried today. But do you know how many actually succeeded?"

"No?" She frowned.

"None," he said with a grim shake of his head. "Every last one was thrown off, some injured so badly they could scarcely walk."

"But I am not afraid of being thrown," she said firmly, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

The old man let out a dry chuckle, though his expression remained serious. "You won't manage it," he said, his voice heavy with certainty.

"Let her try," a deep voice commanded.

Sigrid turned to see Erik Gustavson stepping into view, his dark, wavy hair brushing just past his shoulders.

The old man stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Look at her," he said, gesturing to Sigrid. "She'll be killed by that poor beast."

Erik Gustavson patted him on the shoulder. "Let her try." He repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Is it your horse?" She asked.

"No, do you need help getting on?" Erik said politely.

"I think I can manage," she said, signaling for them to move aside.

She began by circling the horse, her steps slow and deliberate, her voice low as she hummed a soothing tune. Her gaze never left the creature, her movements careful and steady. Just as her grandmother had taught her.

When she reached its head, she extended her hand slowly, her palm facing upward. She met the horse's wary eyes and held the gaze as she touched its nose. Her hand moved in calm, firm strokes, gliding upward to the space between its eyes.

The horse suddenly shifted, causing it to jiggle slightly. She continued her hand up its mane and down its back, eventually reaching the saddle, which she loosened.

Sigrid did not flinch, continuing her touch, steady and reassuring. Her hand traveled upward along its mane, down the length of its powerful neck, and then along its back.

She used her hand firmly but gently along its back, reaching its hindquarters, where she continued her touch.

She whispered gently:
"Má ek ríða þér? Ek lofa at vera varr."

The horse bowed its front legs, allowing her to mount easily.
Sigrid stepped forward, her movements fluid, and mounted the horse with ease. The moment her weight settled, the horse reared up, pawing the air with its forelegs.

Sigrid clung tightly to its mane, her grip firm and sure. Her heart raced, but she leaned forward, pressing herself into the rhythm of the horse's movement. She whispered again, her voice steady. "Varr... varr."

Leading the large black stallion out into the crowd, which to her surprise had gathered to watch, she calmly and carefully guided it around the market and back.

"Is it mine now?" Sigrid asked, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and pride.

"Yes," Erik replied with a nod, his eyes gleaming.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, hearing the crowd's applause of admiration as she rode towards her father and brothers, who had now spotted her.

Gudbrand's face turned ashen when he saw his daughter riding the wild steed. He ran towards her. "My dear Sigrid, dismount at once!"

"Look, Father, I've acquired a horse; it's mine." She said a little too excitedly.

"No," her father snapped, his tone harsh.

"It is not dangerous; it merely requires more care than others."

"That beast shall not come home with us, Sigrid!" Gudbrand's voice trembled with anger.

"Yes, it shall!" She replied defiantly, refusing to back down.

"Now, Sigrid! Get off!" He roared, his face reddening.

"Father! You're frightening him!" Sigrid shouted as the horse suddenly reared up on its hind legs, startled by her father's fury.

"I will have that horse's head, Sigrid, if you do not dismount now! I swear it!" Gudbrand's voice was low and threatening, his hands clenched into fists.

"Had it been my brothers, you would have clapped in joy and delight! I hate you!" She shouted with contempt in her voice.

She kicked the horse lightly, sending it into a gallop.

She glanced back and saw that Sigurd had mounted his own horse, his dark eyes burning with anger as he fixed his gaze on her.

But Sigrid had no intention of stopping.

She set her jaw, her gaze steady as she urged her horse forward. She meant to continue on. The horse beneath her seemed to sense her resolve, its powerful legs carrying them further with each stride.
She would not be swayed. Not this time.