In Shetland’s Skelwick, Maren spun flax so fine it rivaled spider silk , her wheel humming by the hearth on a stormy night
She sang an old tune to ward off Trows gnarled fairy folk who envied human craft. But one Trow, Grimni from Houlland hill heard her song as a call.
Smitten he left a silver coin by her wheel, etched with runes. Then a pearl, shells that sang, and a whalebone comb. Maren kept them, whispering thanks. On the seventh night, Grimni rasped, “Ye’ve taken me gifts—ye’re mine.”
The floor split down, she went to his moss-lit hall. #Trows danced, crowning her with fishbone
But Maren clutched a rusted nail, Trows hate iron. She tricked #Grimni to fetch water drove the nail into the wall, and climbed free as the hall crumbled.
A week had passed in a night. Her gifts turned to dust, but her wheel bore Trow scratches. She hung iron above her door ever after.
Trow 🎨by Mark Bere Peterson
Val is a writer of enchanted tales, folklore and magic. Once chased by Vampire Pumpkins! 