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dren about the way their legs sit in their hip sockets. It’s insane. In all of my college essays where I mention dance, I talk about how I learned practical, meaningful skills like teamwork and dedication. That’s all true, but recently I’ve found something else to add to that list. I learned not to take my self or other people too seriously. If a hair is out of place, the world will not end. If my legs don’t turn out exactly the way ballet technique says they should be, I will not necessarily die alone. These things are not related. These things that cause life-threatening explosions that make me want to hide under my bed, will not matter in ten years. The things that matter so much to Ashley and Abby Lee Miller will not ruin my life. It’s taken me months of re ec- tion and purposefully removing myself from that environment to realize this. It’s such a relief.
What is Hidden in Snow is Revealed at Thaw
Fiction by Alexandra Cunningham ‘15
Det som göms i snö, kommer fram vid tö What is hidden in snow, is revealed at thaw
Keldaboð– the spring festival. Every year, us vikings get weary of the dark winter days and eagerly await for a few rays of sun- shine and a couple blades of grass. The most anticipated event occurs at the culmination of the week-long celebration, the Raun. Every young viking dreams of the day their Raun nally comes. Well, every young viking except for me. Its basically a stupid test for boys turning fteen and girls turning sixteen to transition into “adulthood”. In my world, that means lifting heavy objects, killing innocent animals, and performing other feats of strength. Sounds fun, right? . . . wrong. Every year, bones are broken, skulls are cracked, and clan rivalries are formed. As a scrawny girl with the nickname of Meyla, or “little girl,” I am certainly not looking forward to my Raun. It doesn’t
help that I’m the daughter of the
jarl and I’m being tested along
with four of my peers–one of them
being my younger brother. Hrogan
is a dimwitted, 250-pound, fteen
year old viking and everyone loves
him. I call him “the walrus,” with
his blank stare and rolls of fat that he likes to call “muscle.” The walrus is to be named the next jarl and so his Raun is the talk of the village. Boys who pass their tests become the jarl’s war- riors and most accompany him on his sea travels. Girls who pass their tests prove they have the strength for childbirth and prepare for marriage. If you fail, you become a thrall- an un- worthy slave lacking in strength and integrity. A viking hasn’t failed in the past thirty-two years, as failing brings dishonor and shame to families. I have a feeling this year, weak little me, Yelgen Bjornsdottir, will fail.
The horn sounded the next morning before the sun was up. Today is the rst day of training and all vikings taking their Raun are obligated to attend. The rst day is brutal. Training involves swimming in the frigid, rolling waves of the ocean, fol- lowed by cli climbing. All of this is taught by none other than the jarl, Bjorn the Skull Splitter, my father. I quickly dressed, putting on my leather training clothes and laced up boots. My hair was long, a dirty brown tangled mess that would only get in the way. In a split second decision, I unsheathed my moth- er’s knife from my belt and cut at my hair that once went to my hips, but now only barely hung to the bottom of my ear. I threw my cloth boots at the sleeping lump across the room. It grunted and plopped onto the cold oor. “Hrogan, the horn sounded. Get up now, or good luck dealing with the Skull Split- ter,” I hissed and left for the great hall downstairs. All of the other trainees were there, feasting on bread, goat, and cheese in preparation for the long day to come. I sat next to Helka, the large, athletic daughter of the blacksmith. I managed a few bites of cheese before the walrus slipped in, with the unusually giddy jarl right behind him. I didn’t think that my mountain of a father was capable of being so excited. “Today you will suf- fer, but you will enjoy the pain. True vikings can get through anything,” the jarl’s booming voice echoed through the hall. “Remember that the gods in Asgard are watching you. Do not fail.” I was surrounded by four huge crooked, goofy smiles of the other trainees, while I’m sure a huge grimace was glued onto my face. As we nished eating, I took time to analyze the other trainees. Helka, to the right of me, was busy sharpening her three knives with her grey eyes inspecting the edges of her
Art by Annie Scherer ‘17
Spring 2015 17