Once upon a time, there was a carpenter who suffered many losses. Many say his losses were caused by a curse put upon him by a witch; others declared his losses a consequence of his father’s tyranny, for his father ruled over many lands.

In time the carpenter took a wife, who bore him children, and he was happy. He would rise before the sun and venture into the fields, tending to his crops, feeding his flocks, and taking his axe and saw and crafting the treasures of the forest into thrones, cradles, and fine tables that villagers and sometimes princes came to buy. At night, he would return to his cottage long after the moon had risen high above the trees, where he would find his wife and children asleep in the beds he had made for them.

One night, however, he returned home to find his wife and children – (‘Find his wife and children what, Mumma?’ Gaia asks, straining to see the words on the screen. The story has it that the poor guy returned home to find his wife and children mauled to death by a brown bear, their blood strewn across the walls and their faceless remains on the floor. She scrolls quickly past that part) – to find his wife and children gone. He had no idea where they had gone, but he knew they would never return.

(‘But why, Mumma? Why would they leave him?’ Gaia asks tearfully. ‘It’s just a story, darling,’ she answers.)

The carpenter went to work the next day, and the day after that, but his heart was heavier than the moon. His tears flowed from his cheeks to the earth and turned into a glacier. His sorrow became a new wind that swept across the earth. And then, anger seized him. And because anger is twinned by no element it changed his blood and bones. One day, he awoke to find his hands had become paws, his face had elongated into a long snout with pointed ears, and behind him swept a thick bushy tail. He had become a wolf.

No longer able to use his tools, the carpenter had to flee his home and roam the wilds of Scandinavia. It is said that, even now, on a full moon, he howls for his wife and children, wishing they might return home.