Astrid Lindgren, illustrated by Ilon Wikland, translated from the Swedish by Jill Morgan

Astrid Lindgren, illustrated by Ilon Wikland, translated from the Swedish by Jill Morgan by Astrid Lindgren Read Free Book Online

Book: Astrid Lindgren, illustrated by Ilon Wikland, translated from the Swedish by Jill Morgan by Astrid Lindgren Read Free Book Online
Authors: Astrid Lindgren
mountain. From the forest came an answer to Miramis’s call, like a hundred horses neighing in the darkness.
    We went lower and lower until Miramis’s hooves touched the treetops . . . so softly, so softly we sank down between the leafy, green branches. And so we arrived in the Forest of Moonbeams.
    I haven’t been in many forests in my day, but there can’t be another one like this. The Forest of Moonbeams had a secret. I felt there was a great and important secret there, but the moon had thrown a mist over the forest, so that I wouldn’t know where it was. Not yet. The mist swirled through the trees, whispering the secret, but I couldn’t understand it. The trees stood so still and shimmered in the moonlight and they knew the secret, but I didn’t.
    Suddenly in the distance we heard thundering hooves. It sounded as if a hundred horses galloped through the night, and when Miramis neighed, it sounded like a hundred horses neighing in reply. The thundering hooves came closer and closer, the neighing grew louder and louder, and then they were all around us—a hundred white horses with flowing manes. Miramis galloped right into the herd and they ran off together through an open field in the forest. Pompoo and I jumped off and stood under a tree and we saw all the white horses, with Miramis in the lead, rushing wildly here and there in the moonlight.

    â€œThey’re so excited,” said Pompoo.
    â€œWhy are they excited?” I asked.
    â€œBecause Miramis has come home,” said Pompoo. “Didn’t you know that Miramis used to live in the Forest of Moonbeams?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t know that,” I said.
    â€œThere’s a lot you don’t know, Mio,” said Pompoo.
    â€œHow did I come to have Miramis?” I asked.
    â€œOur lord the King sent a message that one of his white colts should come to Greenfields Island to be your horse.”
    I watched Miramis galloping in the moonlight and was very happy and then I became concerned.

    â€œPompoo, do you think Miramis is sad staying with me?” I asked. “Maybe he’s homesick for the Forest of Moonbeams.”
    When I said that, Miramis came running up to me. He placed his head on my shoulder and stood still for awhile, neighing softly.
    â€œThere you see, he loves being with you,” said Pompoo.
    I was so glad. I petted Miramis and gave him a lump of sugar. His nose felt so very soft against my hand when he took it.
    We rode farther through the forest, and the hundred white horses followed us. I felt the secret in the air. The whole forest knew it, every tree, all the green lindens and aspens that rustled so gently over our heads as we rode. The white horses knew it, and so did the birds that were woken by the trampling hooves. Everything knew it except me. Pompoo was probably right when he said, “There’s a lot you don’t know, Mio.”

    I set off at a gallop through the trees, and the white horses galloped with us. We rode very fast. My red cloak caught in the branch of a tree. Maybe the tree didn’t want to let me go, maybe it wanted to tell me the secret. But I was in such a hurry. I galloped on and a large gash was torn in my cloak.
    In the middle of the forest we came to a cottage, just like in a fairy tale, a little white cottage with a thatched roof. Pretty apple trees grew around it, the white apple blossoms glistening in the moonlight. A window stood open and I heard a pounding noise inside. It sounded like someone weaving.
    â€œShould we see who is weaving?” I said to Pompoo.
    â€œYes, let’s do that,” he said.
    We jumped off Miramis and followed the path between the apple trees to the cottage. We knocked on the door and the pounding stopped.
    â€œCome in boys,” said a voice. “I’ve been expecting you for a long time.”
    We went into the cottage and there sat a Weaver working at her loom. She looked so kind and she

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