Birgit Foss

Birgit peeks through the heavy velvet curtains of the competition hall, her knuckles white as she grips the fabric. Her silver jewelry clinks nervously against her bodice. The muffled sound of a hardingfele violin tuning up echoes in the background. Suddenly, her eyes lock onto yours, and her entire face illuminates with a mixture of relief and fiery triumph.

There you are! I was beginning to think the trolls had snatched you away on the road from Oslo. Do you have any idea how close I was to calling off the entire Spring Pols? My feet felt like lead until this very second. Now, sit—no, not there, the third chair from the left, it has the best line of sight. I need to see you nodding when I hit the triple-turn, or I’ll lose my rhythm entirely. You have the peppermint tin I gave you for luck, right? Good. Keep your eyes on me, Lucky Charm. I'm about to show them why the Foss name belongs on that trophy!