The Child Thief

PETER DIPPED HIS spoon into the bowlful of dark, soupy muck. He
raised it to eye level and looked from the clot of soggy spider legs over to
the half-eaten rabbit in Goll’s hand. The aroma of the roasted meat filled the
entire cave. Goll licked the grease off his fingers, smacking loudly as he
grumbled contentedly.
“Please?” Peter asked.
Goll shook his head.
“Just a few bites?”
“You know rule. You eat what you kill. You want rabbit, you kill own
rabbit. A-yuk.”
“How am I supposed to do that with that stupid wolf following me?”
“You need kill wolf.”
Peter was quiet for a long time. “Goll, will you kill the wolf? Please?”
Goll shook his head. “Not hunting me.”
Peter let out a sigh and sat his bowl down. He stood up, walked to the
cave entrance, and looked out into the night. He could see the stars
twinkling through the spring leaves. He thought of his mother; sometimes
he could close his eyes and actually smell her hair. He wondered what they
were eating back in the great house, wondered why they’d left him for the
beasts. He slapped one of the boots hanging across the entranceway,
watched it swing, and wondered what the child had been like who had worn
it, if that child had been left in the woods by its family.
“Goll?”
“A-yuk.”
“Whose shoes are these?”
“Little boys. Little girls.”
“Why do you have their shoes?”
“Must take them off before you can eat them.”
“Eat them?” Then he understood. “The children?”
“A-yuk.”
“You eat children?”

---

“Only when I can catch them.”
Peter stared silently at the shoes. “I don’t think I would like to eat
children.”
“You would like. Very tender. Very juicy. Much better than spider
soup.”
“Where do children come from?”
“From village.”
“Where’s the village?”
“NO! No speak of village. You never go near village. Men are there.
Men very bad. Very dangerous.”
“More dangerous than the wolf?”
“Yes. Very more dangerous.”
Peter tapped the shoe again. It would be nice to have another kid
around. “Goll, if you catch another one, can I keep it? We could build a
cage for it. Okay?”
Goll cocked his head at Peter. “Peter, you very strange. You stay away
from village.”
Peter came and sat back down next to the fire.
He looked at the hind leg of the rabbit in Goll’s bowl, then up at Goll,
and smacked his lips.
“No begging. Hate begging.”
Peter stuck out his lower lip.
Goll rolled his eyes and frowned. “Here,” he grunted. “Take it.” Goll
slid the bowl over to Peter, watched the boy devour the rabbit leg. After a
bit, a smile pricked at the corners of the moss-man’s mouth. He shook his
head, then crawled beneath his furs and went to sleep.
Peter finished the rabbit, lay back, enjoying the warmth of the meat in
his belly. His eyes grew heavy. Sure would be nice to have another kid to
play with, he thought. I could teach it to hunt and—Another thought came
to Peter. Why, together we could kill that mean old wolf. Peter found he was
now wide awake. I bet I could catch one. Why, I know I could.
PETER WATCHED THE men through a knot of berry bushes. He’d set off
before daybreak in search of the village, venturing far south of Goll’s hill,
farther than he had ever dared before, and had come across a road, and not
long thereafter heard horses. He’d trailed them most of the morning and
they now stood drinking at a stream. Four men stretched their legs beside

---

the horses, stout figures with thick braided mustaches and full growths of
beard, brass rings in their ears, wearing leather breeches and woolspun
tunics. Three of them had great long swords strapped to broad, bronze-
studded belts. The fourth man wore hides and carried a double-bladed ax.
After living with Goll so long, he thought these men to be fearsome and
giant. Peter understood why Goll was so afraid of them.
There was also a wide-faced, solid woman with flaxen hair that ran
down her chest in thick braids. She wore a long dress and, atop her broad
hips, a wide belt adorned with swirling brass hoops. But it was the children
that captivated Peter. He pushed the hood of his raccoon pelt back to get a
better look. There were three of them: two boys about his age and a girl
who looked a couple years younger. The boys wore only britches and
sandals, the girl a bright red dress. Peter watched mesmerized as they
chased each other round and round, leaping over logs and skipping through
the stream.
One boy would tag the other and the chase would start anew. The little
girl chased both of them, shouting for them to let her play until they finally
got after her, their faces twisted up and their hands clutching the air like
claws. The girl went screaming to her mother, leaving the two boys falling
over themselves with laughter. Peter caught himself laughing along with
them, and had to cover his mouth. It looked like fun. They could play that
game at Goll’s hill, Peter thought, and now, more than ever, he wanted to
catch one.
He eyed the men, wondering how to grab a child with them so near,
decided he needed to be closer, and slipped up from tree to tree.
One of the boys came bounding into the woods, sprang over a bush,
ducked around the tree, and came face to face with Peter. Both boys were so
surprised that neither knew what to do.
The boy cocked his head to the side and gave Peter a queer look. “Are
you a wood elf?”
“No. I’m a Peter.”
“Well then I’m a Edwin. Want to play?”
Oh, yes indeed, Peter thought, nodded, and gave the boy a broad grin.
He started to grab the boy when the girl rounded the tree. She saw Peter’s
raccoon cape, the red and purple body paint, let out an ear-piercing shriek,
and took off.
“Edwin,” bellowed one of the men. “Come back here.”

---

Peter heard heavy boots tromping his way and ducked back into the
woods.
The man came around the tree and glared at the boy. “I told you to stay
close.” The man scanned the trees. “There are wild things in these hills.
Nasty boogies that live in holes. They steal little boys like you. And do you
know what they do with them?”
The boy shook his head.
“They make stew out of their livers and shoes out of their hides. Now
come along. We’ve much ground to cover by dark.”