"Gunnhilde's Redoubt" -- Miriam E. Waters

Picture Credit: dragonike.wordpress.com

by Miriam E. Waters

Gunhilde shifted on her bed of straw.  She was accustomed to sleeping in the loft above the animals.  She slept when they slept, she rose when they rose. Dawn was peeking through the spaces between the boards above her head.  Soon the light would reach her face, the animals would begin to stir, and she would rise to attend to her tasks.  For the moment, however, she burrowed a little deeper into the warm nest and breathed a sigh of contentment.

Clang-gung.  Clang-gung.  Clang-gung. “Gunnhilde!  Gunnhilde!”  

The milkmaid came fully awake, her heart pounding in concert with the urgent staccato of the village bell.  She bolted from her bed, made her way to the plank ladder, and descended into the gloom filling the barn.

“She’s back, the Red Dragon’s back!  I saw her shadow pass over the house a few moments ago.  She’s snatched our cows and now she’s after my babies!  Take them and hide in the mill,” begged the mistress of the house.

Moving as quickly as the wee ones were able, Gunnhilde led the children into the safety of the stone windmill where the summer wheat was being ground.  She secreted them in a small manger below the stairway leading to the great arms of the mill.

“Hide under that straw with your sister.  Don’t move or leave this spot.  The dragon likes eating children.”

Gunnhilde barricaded the mill’s door.  Armed with only a pitchfork, she kept vigil at the door throughout the long day. She could hear shouting men and barking dogs. The bitter stench of burning crops found its way into the mill.  The Red Dragon’s roar was so close Gunnhilde’s heart nearly stopped beating!

She didn’t dare leave the babes.  They were cold, hungry and frightened.  If they left the windmill they might find themselves eye to eye with the dragon; best to stay hidden.

The shadows on the mill’s floor signaled evening.  There were no more sounds or hints of life from either animals or villagers.  The mill was choked with smoke from the burning fields.  It was time to investigate what lay beyond the mill’s door.  

Clutching the pitchfork to her breast, Gunnhilde once again abandoned a position of safety.  She cleared the barricade from the door and pushed it open a few inches.  This allowed her to peek into the dusk.  She saw nothing but heard odd noises.  “Chirrup, kok, kok, kok, hool; chirrup, kok, kok, hool.”   She tried to push the door closed, but before she was able she was bowled over by something hurtling itself into the mill.

A great weight pressed upon her chest.  A young dragon was standing on her, pinning her to the ground.  She heard anguished shouts from the children.  Gunnhilde’s last thought before her vision filled with snapping jaws was “no, no, no … not the babies.”

From the courtyard beyond the door, the Red Dragon gave a contented call:  “Chirrup, chirrup, chirrup.”  Her hatchlings answered the call, “kok, kok, kok, hool.”

August 18, 2015.  All Rights Reserved.