Morg

Chapter 10

 As she did so she heard a howl, the long wailing howl of a hungry wolf. Goose pimples rose on Morg's arms. The howl came again, rising high over the dusk of the forest. It's nearer, she thought, I'm sure it's nearer. Morg started to run. She could see the hill, but she was still a long way away from safety. She reached the edge of the fields where she had put the sheep just that morning. They were empty now, the sheep all safe in the fort. The howl came again, and then a second and a third. Of course there are more than one, she thought, as she stumbled on. A whole pack. They are following me, they are definitely following me.

     Then she realised. Of course they were following her. She smelt like a boar, carrying the piglet in her cloak. What an idiot I am, she thought. She was about to drop the cloak and let the piglet free, when she paused. No, I've got this far, she thought. I can't just leave it now. Not after all this. She started to scramble up the rocky path to the gate. I'm nearly there, I'm nearly there, she thought. The howls were so close Morg thought she could hear the snapping of the wolves' jaws and feel the warmth of their breath on her heels.

     The gates of the fort were closed. Morg summoned all her energy.

     "Open! Quickly!" she screamed.

     A pale round head appeared over the ramparts and looked down.

     "Who goes there?" called the watchman.

     "It is me. Morg. The wolves -"

     The watchman disappeared and Morg heard him shout out a warning inside. She heard footsteps running down the passage to the gate. He opened it.

     "Let me in!" gasped Morg. She turned to look behind her. She was sure she could see yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. The guard slammed the gate tight shut behind her.

*

The guard tried to take her bundle but Morg's fingers were frozen to it, so he led her along the twisting passage through the walls. By the time she came out her father was there swooping her into his arms.

     "Morg, Morg," he whispered into her hair. "My dearest girl. My brave girl." Something squirmed against his arm.

     "What is that?" he said, nearly dropping Morg.

     "It's a piglet. A boar," she told him. "I thought it would please you. And mother."

     Then her father threw back his great head and roared with laughter, his whole body shaking.

     "Morg, have you been out this late hunting piglets? This prize indeed." And he laughed again.

     "Father," murmured Morg. "I'm cold." She started to sway. He stopped laughing abruptly. He took off his thick red cloak and wrapped her and the piglet together in it, scooped the bundle into his arms and strode across the enclosure to the hut. He kicked open the door.

     "Brigd. Morg is back," he said and to Morg's astonishment her mother dropped the pot of water that she had been holding and ran towards her.

     "Morg! My beautiful Morg," and her mother hugged her tightly, kissing her face. "I thought I had lost you."

     "She is cold. She used her cloak for the piglet," said her father, and as he did so Morg's fingers, warmed by his cloak, unclasped. The piglet wriggled from its bundle and ran squealing into the hut. Morg's father beat it to the door, which he kicked closed, and then he tried to catch it. But the piglet was fast, and furious at its captivity. Round and round the fire they raced. Col joined in, trying to head the piglet into a corner. Two bowls of water were smashed. The loom was knocked over. The piglet squealed. Morg's mother grabbed the baby. Morg's father flung himself at the piglet, but only managed to land face forward on the blankets. Col grabbed at the straw to make a wall, and Morg's father pushed some wood and the edge of the loom to form a pen, and the piglet was trapped. Morg's father and Col were exhausted and Morg and her mother were weak from laughter.