Rheda was a valkirie and goddess of the winter. She had come with the villagers when they rode the crashing surf onto the northern beaches and then for the long overland journey through the lands of sometimes friendly, sometimes angry foreigners. The little dark-haired sheep were pretty good at finding bits of grass to nibble during the cold weather, but even they couldn’t cope with snowdrifts, and as for the milk cows and the plough oxen, there was never enough winter roots or oat straw to keep their bellies full and the whole village would echo to their hungry bellows. Anyone with sheep and cattle to overwinter dreaded heavy snow. He knew his father was worried that more snow might be on the way.

Wulf pulled his prickly woollen cloak tighter around him and glanced up at the snow covered fell top. Why else was he hurrying his way to the sacred spring this early winter morning if not to ask for the help of the old gods? Sure enough, the spring had a new name now, St Anne’s Spout, but Wulf and everyone in the village still called it by its old name, Rheda’s spring, unless of course, the priest was anywhere within earshot. Nowadays, Wulf and his family were Christians and no-one was supposed to even remember the old gods, but old habits died hard in a place like this. It was the name of one of the ancient gods. Wulf knew his father still used it, but only when he thought that no-one was listening and Wulf’s mother would have given him what for if she’d heard him say it. He used an old word, one that was probably used when his ancestors were still in the old country, far away across the cold northern sea. You're here: Kids' Zone | Dalesfolk Stories | Anglo-Saxon Story Anglo-Saxon Story The Grey Dog

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