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 Posted: Fri Jun 27, 2008 4:06 am
harken my children.
learn the wise lore of the Tlingit indians of British Columbia and the northwest US.
"long ago a fearsome vampire lord threatened the whole world. he attacked all living creatures and left them as dry empty husks.
the people feared they were doomed, but a mighty Hero strode forth and offered to combat the demon lord.
he took his bow and long knife, and medicine belt, but little else.
the demon lord vampire laughed at the challenge but the Hero deftly assailed him with many accurate arrows. while the vampire was cursing and trying to retreat, the hero leapt upon him and began stabbing and slashing with his knife, which had dismembered many stags and elk.
but lo! the vampire lord was an eternal spirit and could not be slain! he assailed the Hero with painful slashes and gashes of his poisoned fingernails.
the Hero dodged the fierce teeth and retreated to heal himself with his medicines.
the vampire lord taunted him with the futility of his attack, but the Hero repeated his former assault, arrows, knife, but this time he kept hacking and slicing until he had reduced the vampire to hundreds of fragmennts.
the furious vampire, now many little vampires, continued to counterattack, but although they were able to inflict pain, the little vampires could no longer kill.
So the Hero kept slashing and hacking until the vampires were as small and harmless as could be, no longer a threat, although still annoying.
and thus the mosquitos were created."
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Posted: Wed Jul 02, 2008 5:14 am
A quick excerpt from one of my favorite books:
About a quarter of a mile from Soroe lies Pedersborg, and a little farther on is the town of Lyng. Just between these towns is a hill called Brondhoi (spring hill), said to be inhabited by the Troll-people.
There goes a story that there was once among these Troll-people of Brondhoi an old crossgrained curmudgeon of a Troll, whom the rest nicknamed Knurremurre (Rumble-grumble) because he was evermore the cause of noise and uproar within the hill. This Knurremurre having discovered what he thought to be too great a degree of intimacy between his young wive and a young Troll of the society, took this in such ill part, that he vowed vengeance, swearing he would have the life of the young one. The latter, accordingly, thought it would be his best course to be off out of the hill till better times; so, turning himself into a noble tortoise-shell tom cat, he one fine morning quitted his old residence, and journeyed down to the neighbouring town of Lyng, where he established himself in the house of an honest poor man named Plat.
Here he lived for a long time comfortable and easy, with nothing to annoy him, and was as happy as any tom-cat or Troll crossed in love well could be. He got every day plenty of milk and a good groute to eat, and lay the whole day long at his ease in a warm arm-chair behind the stove.
Plat happened one evening to come home rather late, and as he entered the room the cat was sitting in his usual place, scraping meal-groute out of a pot, and licking the pot itself carefully. "Harkye, dame" said Plat, as he came in at the door, "till I tell you what happened to me on the road. Just as I was coming past Prondoi, there came out a Troll, and he called out to me, and said,
"Harkye Plat
Tell your cat,
That Knurremurre is dead."
The moment the cat heard these words, he tumbled the pot down on the floor, sprang out of the chair and stood up on his hind legs. Then as he hurried out the door, he cried out with exultation, "What! is Knurremurre dead? Then I may go home as fast as I please." And so saying he scampered off to the hill, to the amazement of honest Plat; and it is likely lost no time in making his advances to the young widow.
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Posted: Sat Jul 05, 2008 9:21 am
hey Lea, that's so cool!
funny, so true to human nature, and the limited but telling detail that good old stories have.
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