Long before the gods of Asgard thought of binding Fenris Wolf, Tyr was given the task of keeping an eye on this offspring of Loki. Although Fenris had the run of the green glens of Asgard, often he would journey to Midgard to avoid the eyes of Tyr and see what destruction he might wreak.

At that time there was a grove dedicated to Thor, where goats were raised. Every year, the best of the flock would be selected and trained to pull the thunder-waggon.

The she-goat who reigned over the grove had seven little kids, and loved them with all the love of a mother for her children. One day she wanted to go into the forest and fetch some food. So she called all seven to her and said:

'Dear children, I have to go into the forest. I want you all to be on your guard against the Fenris Wolf, for I have heard that he has given Tyr the slip again. If he manages to get in, he will devour you all - skin, hair, and everything. The wretch often tries to disguise himself in imitation of his shape-shifting father, Loki, but you will know him at once by his rough voice and his black feet.'

The kids said, 'Dear mother, we will take good care of ourselves. You may go away without any anxiety.'

Then the old one bleated, and went on her way with an easy mind.

It was not long before someone knocked at the house-door and called:

'Open the door, dear children. Your mother is here, and has brought something back with her for each of you.'

But the little kids knew by his rough voice that it was Fenris Wolf.

'We will not open the door,' they cried, 'you are not our mother. She has a soft, pleasant voice, but your voice is rough. You are Fenris Wolf!'

Then Fenris went away to a narby quarry and got himself a great lump of chalk. He ate this up and it made his voice soft. Then he came back, knocked at the door of the house, and called:

'Open the door, dear children, your mother is here and has brought something back with her for each of you.'

But Fenris had laid his black paws against the window, and the children saw them and cried:

'We will not open the door! Our mother has not black feet like yours. You are Fenris Wolf!'

Then Fenris ran to a baker and said: 'I have hurt my feet. Rub some dough over them for me.' And when the baker had rubbed his feet over, Fenris ran to a miller and said: 'Strew some white meal over my feet for me.'

The miller thought to himself 'This wolf wants to deceive someone' and refused.

But Fenris Wolf yawned and showed him his great teeth, of which he was very proud, saying:

'If you will not do it, I will devour you.'

Then the miller was afraid, and made Fenris's paws white for him.

Truly, this is the way of mankind.

So now Fenris went for the third time to the house-door, knocked at it and said:

'Open the door for me, children, your dear little mother has come home, and has brought every one of you something back from the forest with her.'

The little kids cried, 'First show us your paws that we may know if you are our dear little mother.'

Then Fenris put his paws in through the window, and when the kids saw that they were white, they believed that all he said was true, and unlatched the door.

No sooner was the door unlatched than who should spring in than Fenris Wolf!

The kid-goats were terrified and tried to hide. One sprang under the table, the second into the bed, the third into the stove, the fourth into the kitchen, the fifth into the cupboard, the sixth under the washing-bowl, and the seventh into the flour-basket.

Fenris Wolf, however, sniffed out all their hiding-places, and without further ado, one after the other, he swallowed them down.

The youngest, who was in the flour-basket, was the only one he did not find. When Fenris Wolf had satisfied his appetite he took himself off, laid himself down under a tree in the green meadow outside, and fell asleep.

Soon afterwards the old she-goat came home again from the forest.

'Ah!' What a sight she saw there!

The house-door was flung wide open. The table, chairs, and benches were thrown down, the washing-bowl lay broken to pieces, and the quilts and pillows were pulled off the bed. She sought her children, but they were nowhere to be found. She called them one after another by name, but no one answered.

At last, when she came to the youngest, a soft voice cried:

'Dear mother, I am in the flour-basket.'

She took the kid out, and it told her that Fenris Wolf had come and had eaten all the others. How she wept over her poor children!

At length in her grief she went out, and the youngest kid ran with her. When they came to the meadow, there lay Fenris by the tree. He was snoring so loud that the branches shook.

The she-goat looked at him on every side and saw that something was moving and struggling in his bloated belly.

'Ah, by the Fates,' she breathed, 'is it possible that my poor children can be still alive?'

Then the kid had to run home and fetch scissors, and a needle and thread and the goat cut open the monster's stomach. Hardly had she made one cut, than one little kid-goat thrust its head out, and when she cut farther, all six sprang out one after another, and were all still alive, and had suffered no injury, for in his greediness the monster had swallowed them down whole.

What rejoicing there was! They embraced their dear mother, and jumped like a sailor at his wedding.

The mother, however, said, 'Now go and look for some big stones, and we will fill the wicked beast's stomach with them while he is still asleep.'

Then the seven kid-goats dragged the stones back with all speed, and put as many of them into his stomach as could fit, and the mother sewed him up again in the greatest haste, so that he was not aware of anything and never once stirred.

When Fenris Wolf at length had had his fill of sleep, he got on his legs, and as the stones in his stomach made him very thirsty, he wanted to go to a well to drink. But when he began to walk and move about, the stones in his stomach knocked against each other and rattled. Then he cried:

'What rumbles and tumbles against my poor bones? I thought it might be six kids, but it feels like big stones.' And when he got to the well and stooped over the water to drink, the heavy stones made him fall in, and he drowned miserably.

When the seven kids saw that, they came running to the spot and cried aloud 'The wolf is dead! The wolf is dead!' and danced for joy round about the well with their mother.

Well, well, well, that was the end of that tale with the seven kid-goats, but Fenris, being the son of Loki and the daughter of the she-jotun Angrboda, cannot be truly drowned.

Tyr finally caught up with him and fished him out and haled him back to Asgard. Eventually his mother, the she-jotun, Angrboda, belied her name 'Distress-Bringer' and slapped Fenris on the back so heartily that he coughed up the boulders.

Tyr used these boulders to build a cairn and wrote this tale upon them in man-runes that those who read them might know of the treachery of Fenris Wolf, who can soften his voice to sound reasonable and modest and change his black paws into the white hands of apparent kindliness.


Based on The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids