Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow

Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow

Jessica Day George

Language: English

Pages: 352

ISBN: 1619631849

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

When a great white bear promises untold riches to her family, the Lass (as she's known) agrees to go away with him. But the bear is not what he seems, nor is his castle. To unravel the mystery, the Lass sets out on a windswept journey beyond the edge of the world. Based on the Nordic legend East of the Sun, West of the Moon, with romantic echoes of Beauty and the Beast, this re-imagined story will leave fans of fantasy and fairytale enchanted.


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defiant looks and turned away. “I’m going to cut up that old leather glove that doesn’t have a mate,” she announced. “He’ll need to be fed right away.” Which is how the youngest daughter of Jarl Oskarson came to possess a wolf for a pet, and the stories of her way with animals grew as quickly as Rollo did. Chapter 6 As dearly as the young lass loved to talk to animals, she had always felt, deep inside, that one day it would bring her trouble. That that day didn’t come until deep in the

been polishing. Thrusting his feet into them, he pulled on one of the patched parkas that hung by the door. Then he took down a pair of skis and poles. “Don’t wait up, Mother,” he said gaily, and went out into the snow. The other children, who until now had not said a word, all scrambled to follow. Frida made no remark as all her remaining children save Hans Peter and the lass divided up the warm clothes and skis and went out into the cold. When the last of them were gone, she turned to Hans

her. He was never very articulate, but he would ask her what she had done that day and request that she tell him stories from her childhood. At first she thought that meant the fireside tales that Jarl had regaled them with, which the bear was politely interested in, but then she found out he wanted real stories. He wanted to know what it had been like to get up every morning in the freezing cold and gather eggs. He wanted to know about the time they had almost butchered the white-faced doe

she’s . . . dead . . . or something.” A fresh flow of tears ran down her cheeks. “I think . . . it must have been Hans Peter’s Tova.” Rollo sniffed the clothes. He shook his head over the bunad; it was too new to smell like anything other than wool and maybe the lingering scent of the hands that had made it. He snuffled the everyday clothes more thoroughly. “She was human,” he reported. “And clean, very clean. She liked strawberries and books. And Hans Peter. And she didn’t die in these

him. Why in the name of all the saints would he bring her a baby? The squirming, crying bundle couldn’t be anything else. “Come here and take it, girl, it won’t bite—well, it will, but the little nipper’s teeth don’t hurt all that much.” He waved the bundle in her direction again. “What is it?” “It’s an orphaned pup.” Rolf Simonson laughed. “I would have thought you’d jump at the chance for a dog of your own!” The young lass sagged back against the well. “I thought it was a baby,” she said

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