The Woodcutter and The Pig

Once upon a time, there was a poor woodcutter who lived in a cottage with his wife.

It was a tough winter. Like really tough. A thick bed of frost laid permanent across the land as gray clouds stayed pasted in the sky for what seemed like forever. Or at least, that is what it felt like for the couple who hated winter. Like really hated. Everyday, from dawn to dusk, a biting wind chewed across the landscape, leaving everything in its path crippled with frostbite. There was no sun, no food, no hope.

Eventually, the woodcutter’s wife determined that she and her husband would starve if they did not sell their pig. You see, this time of year would have been profitable for the couple. That is until centralized heating was invented. Now no one uses wood to heat up their homes. This change, which was incredibly sudden, had plunged the couple into poverty. Not to mention, the pig had been chowing down all their food. The woodcutter’s wife was able to secure a few snacks that she cleverly hid. She shared them with her husband when she could, but it was not enough. In just the span of a few weeks, her hip bones began to poke at her skin as her eyes sunk in. She could no longer bear to live like this. Especially not when it was as cold as it was since her husband stubbornly refused to get centralized heating. Forcing them to rely on antiquated heating methods. Now, their only hope was to sell their pig, their greatest asset and biggest liability. 

The next morning, she said to her husband, “I’m too weak to do it myself, husband. So you must take the pig to the market and sell it. Please, you must do this for us.” The woodcutter was not too ecstatic about the idea. He loved his pig. In fact, he named it “The Woodcutter’s Pig” but called him “Pig” for short. He often talked to Pig when his wife could not be bothered to listen to him about his interest in woodworking. They were like any average friend group. They exchanged secrets. They talked about their dreams and childhood. The woodcutter even felt comfortable enough to reveal to Pig his lifelong plan to invent an e-commerce company that would ship people items with guaranteed two day shipping the latest. He even thought of a name: Amazon, or whatever came to mind. As he thought about all of this, he understood, selling his best friend would be an unredeemable offense.

On the other hand, the woodcutter was enticed by the benefits that came from the selling Pig. In the woodcutter’s defense, life at the cottage was not exactly exhilarating. Most days, when he returned home from collecting wood from the stinky parts of the wood, of which the stench was so powerful it left its visitors without nose hairs every time, he could never arrive home in time to see food on his dinner plate. Instead, he was always greeted to the sight of Pig’s hairy, gray tongue slobbering all over his dish. Each time, the sight was more disturbing than the last. No matter how many times he sold a piece of his soul to a candy bearing witch in exchange to instantly be zapped to his home, he never made it in time to have a nice hot meal. 

Through it all, the Woodcutter patiently listened. Maybe nodded his head at positive points or held his chin at seemingly petty points. But as his wife spoke, the continuous thought,” How can I stand to lose him?” cycled across his mind. Who would give him snorts of support for his dreams that he was too embarrassed to tell anyone else? But the woodcutter was hungry. He had to admit that. He had grown rather tired of his wife’s cobweb and dust soup. And yes, it was of course what it sounded like. They used what they could, afterall. And he was not the complaining type. But, he was fairly certain a spider has been creating an extensive home in the esophagus for the past couple of weeks. 

In any case, he knew what he had to do, but that did not make the deed any simpler. “Just give me one more day,” the woodcutter pleaded to his wife, “Let me just spend one last day with Pig and then I’ll take him down to the market. Please.”

“Ok,” the woodcutter’s wife replied. “One day. Then you must go.” The next morning, the woodcutter brought Pig along with him to work, just in case his wife had any bright ideas, since she was growing voraciously hungry after all. This was not the first time the woodcutter allowed Pig to tag along with him to work but today was a little different. Instead of seeing Pig for what he was, his best friend, but really a pig, the woodcutter could not get the image of  piggy bank out of his head. 

“That would be nice,” the woodcutter admitted to himself. “If I sell Pig soon, I bet I can make a pretty penny off him.  Interesting enough, pigs are pretty hot on the market right now. So if I sell Pig, I’d make a butt load of cash and then I’ll never have to work another day in the cold, dead winter again! Ok that does it!” the woodcutter exclaims as he jerks Pig’s leash to a holt. “It’s not my idea,” the woodcutter said while trying to force out tears. “It’s the only chance we have at surviving,” he said. “And becoming rich,” he muttered. “You understand, right?” The pig snorted in support. And with that, the woodcutter and Pig headed towards the market. 

As they made their way out of the forest, they came across a strange woman.  She had a hunched back, wide eyes, and long, dry fingernails.  When she spoke, her large, snout like nose protruded from her oversized, thick black cloak.  She looked unlike any woman the woodcutter had ever seen before. “Hey, woodman!”, her voice incredibly raspy, startled the woodcutter.  Immediately, she flashed the inside of her cloak, causing the woodcutter to yelp and cover his eyes. “Relax!” the old woman huffed. “I’m not one of those people. Open your eyes and take a look,” she reassured the frightened man. Hesitantly, he peered through his fingers to see that the old and extremely hair woman possessed multiple blades in her cloak. Amongst them, an axe that garnered the attention of the woodcutter.  There was just something about it. Something different. Mysterious. 

The old woman told the woodcutter that the axe had been wielded by the finest and strongest heroes. Oh, and some other woodcutters as well. Overtime, it had collected the powers of these people and was looking for its next owner. She added, “I’ll give you this magical axe in exchange for the pig.”

(To Be Continued)