Otherwise his childhood with the thursir passed happily enough. It did not trouble him that they overtopped him so hugely. He took that for given. They were kind to him in their rough way, though when they got a little heedless he might be knocked three or four yards aside and blossom for a while in bruises. They shared much of their lore, tales and verses going back to the beginning of the worlds, their speech deep and hoarse and slow. Thus he picked up something of the Old Tongue from Jotunheim. Mostly, however, they spoke the speech of his folk when with him. It was better fitted to the things of Midgard.

They had their feast times during the year, which were not the feasts of men but remembered such happenings as the shaping and slaying of Ymir, the binding of Garm and Fenris, and, more merrily, Utgard-Loki’s fooling of Thor. Mirth came easily to them, for they were of simple heart.

Yet they could be terrible. When Vagnhöfdi was angry, he would bellow, fling boulders about that splintered the trees they hit, launch a landslide, or seek a bear to kill with his naked hands. Hardgreip, who had fondled and sung to and cared for Hadding in his babyhood, liked to run down a deer or an elk, slash it open, and wallow like a wolverine on its bloody carcass, ripping the raw meat with her teeth.

Hadding did not take to these ways. Braki had told him, aside, that they were not seemly for a man. Still, Hadding did not hold them against his fosterers. Mostly Hardgreip was more brash than mad. Seen from afar, so that she dwindled in sight, she was like a good-looking young woman, full bodied, heavy bosomed, her hair long and raven black, her face high in the cheekbones, curved in the nose, broad in the lips, with slant green eyes under thick brows. After Hadding turned from boy to youth, he often found himself a post from which he could watch her thus. It was best when she sought a pool to bathe in. He did not feel ashamed, for he knew she knew what she did, and she flashed him a grin.

Once, out alone on a winter night, he spied a band of light elves riding by. Starlight glittered on their helms and byrnies as it did on the snow; northlights danced on high like the banners that streamed from their spears. ‘White too were their horses, slim and wind-swift, bounding from worldedge to worldedge in a few heartbeats. Above them flew a great owl. They sped past in utter stillness, but as they left Hadding’s ken their leader sounded his horn. Those notes haunted him for years.