The creature’s face was unlike Sigrid had ever seen. Naked of fur, his forehead and cheeks were rather troll-like in their lumpy appearance, though the creature’s nose was not nearly as bulbous. Drooping pointed ears peeked out between his ebony locks that streamed past his shoulders.

Shambled was the best way to describe how the creature walked. It seemed a great effort for him to move. A strained grimace played at the edge of his lips as his bare feet shuffled across the tiled floor.

There was nothing terrifying about this beast. This udyr. Pity is what filled Sigrid’s heart, dissipating any of her lingering fear.

The creature came to a halt before her. Uncomfortable silence settled between the two as they examined each other.

“You are the farmer’s daughter,” the Udyr said. A rasp coated the words, marring his voice with a hoarse stickiness.

Sigrid blew out the breath she had been holding. “Yes.” Unsure what sort of societal protocols she was expected to adhere to, she dipped into what she hoped was a respectful curtsy. “I am Sigrid Jørgensdatter.”

He studied her with a pensive gaze. “You are not afraid.”

“No,” she replied, surprised by the truth in her answer, “not now that I see you.”

The Udyr raised an eyebrow. “A farmer’s daughter, who has never seen creatures more extraordinary than the goats wandering her father’s fields, holds no trepidation at beholding such a grotesque form?” He snorted. “You would do well to find some caution to cling to. There is much to fear beyond the gates of your farm.”

“And what of within these manor walls?” she countered. “Is there danger here that I should be wary of?”

He fell quiet. “No,” he answered. “There is nothing here that wishes you harm.”

She rolled her shoulders back, hoping to emulate confidence. “I am to be employed here, to clean and look after the manor. In exchange for this, you are to pay for my family’s well-being. Is that correct?”

“It is. They will be well taken care of. I give you my word.”

“Then I give you mine. I shall remain here for as long as my duties are required.”

The Udyr gave a satisfied nod. He glanced about them, looking rather lost as to what to say next.

Sigrid stared at him in bewilderment. This was not the stern employer she had been expecting, nor was it the horrible monster her father had feared. A strange, uncertain aura clung to this creature, who seemed more nervous than she at their meeting.

“First, you shall be given a tour of the manor. It isn’t exceptionally large, but—” he paused, “—I apologize; you must be tired from your journey here. Would you rather be shown to your room?”

She shook her head. “No, I’d prefer to look around first.”

“Very well, then. Snø shall be your escort.” He glanced behind him, exasperation sweeping over his face. “If he ever decides to come down, that is.”

“So impatient,” tutted a new voice.

Sigrid and the Udyr turned. A moment later, an arctic fox emerged from the side hall. The fox sported the thin summer fur coat expected of his kind, its winter white having darkened into messy splotches of cream and brown. Yet despite the drab fur color, the animal held himself in an unashamedly proud manner as he all but pranced across the dusty floor.

The fox’s black eyes glinted with interest as he came up to Sigrid. “So, this is the young lass you have employed. She seems adequate enough—for a human.”

Had Sigrid not been so surprised, she might have found offense at such a statement. Instead, all that came out of her mouth was a stuttering: “You can…talk.”

“Well, of course.” The fox scoffed. “I wouldn’t be very useful to you if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

Sigrid blinked, unsure how to answer. When her father had been a child, it had been rare, but not unheard of, to encounter animals capable of speech. Yet as magical creatures retreated further into the deep forests and mountains over the past decades, most of the talking beasts had gone with them.

Though apparently, a few remained in Dormeskog.

“Do try to have a bit more tact when speaking to our new hire, Snø,” sighed the Udyr. “I should hate to drive her off after only one night.”

Snø gave a humph.

“You are in no danger of that just yet.” She smiled. “My name is Sigrid.”

The fox frowned. “You say you are a farmer’s daughter?” he asked, a strange curiosity in the question.

“Yes.” She gave him an odd look. “Why?”

Snø swiped his tail in a thoughtful manner. He shrugged. “No matter. Well, as you already know my name, shall we begin the tour?”

Owing the fox’s reaction to the overall strangeness of the situation, Sigrid reverted her attention to the Udyr. “You will not join us?”

He shook his head. “No.” There was a brief pause. “But…I will see you at supper.” It sounded more like a question than a statement of certainty.

She hadn’t been expecting to dine with him. But now that it had been offered, it seemed like the obvious thing to be done. “Yes, of course.”

The Udyr dipped his head in a short nod. He glanced at his companion. “Try not to wander too far, Snø.”

The fox snorted. “I shall be sure to show her only the most exquisite rooms we have to offer.”

Ignoring the sarcastic reply, the Udyr’s gaze flickered to Sigrid once more before he lumbered back to the screen.

“Wait,” she said suddenly.

He stopped.

“What…what is your name? What am I to call you while under your employment?”

His shoulders stiffened. “I have no name. I am an udyr. It would be inane to call me otherwise.” With that, he disappeared behind the screen, his footsteps fading into the dusty cracks of the manor.

Sigrid felt Snø’s gaze on her as she pondered the Udyr’s words. When she looked at him, the fox simply jutted his nose at her traveling bag. “Leave that here; it will be taken to your rooms.” He twisted around and bounded towards an open doorway on the left side of the entrance hall. “Well, come along then. There is too much to cover to waste time dawdling.”

Sigrid slipped her bag off her shoulder and set it at her feet. She peered at the statues lining the hall once more, but still, they did not move. After casting a final glance at the screen, she hurried after Snø.

Copyright 2024, Kacey Thiele. All rights reserved.