Ragnarök awaits.
Danger? Adventure? Danger? Adventure? The options echoed about in Åse’s head, sighing softly to herself. Maybe leaving home had been a bad choice after all. No one noticed when she was there... they wouldn’t even notice that she’d gone. Not that she had left in hopes they would notice, but… maybe, just maybe, she could leave and find somewhere they would notice her. Maybe she could find something better… adventure. It would be a conscious decision to choose adventure. Åse knew it wasn’t her choice in the end. What happened in this strange new place was in the hands of the gods, and no one else.
Leaving in the middle of winter had been a bad choice. Åse may have tipped the scales toward danger on that mistake alone. There was a chill gnawing at her bones, and she could feel it sinking deeper. At least it wouldn’t reach her heart– she didn’t have one. For that, the medicine woman was grateful. There was a rueful, bitter smile on her lips as she looked back in the direction she’d come. Had it really just been this morning that she’d left? Was the winter playing tricks on her again? Truthfully, Åse likely wouldn’t have even been surprised. Maybe she’d been adrift for days. Maybe more.
A voice sent her crashing back into her own head. The medicine woman’s gaze swung, settling on the creature… how strange. He was pale, tall, seemingly elegant with strange spots. Her brow furrowed, processing his words. A bit slow to take them in, and Åse realized there was still water in her ears. Though his advice was unsolicited, he wasn’t wrong. “The trees,” she repeated slowly, carefully. Right. The trees. “Where are?” The words came out stilted, colored with a harsh accent.
Raziel he gave his name. The medicine woman’s gaze settled on him, nodding once in acknowledgment. “Åse,” there we go, a word that felt natural in her mouth. “Just came, from the north.” It was a bit sheepish, a means of explanation. Honestly, Åse felt a bit guilty for her poor grasp of the common tongue. There was also a melancholy that rested over her, a cloud that colored her gaze and her words. She was open in the way she studied the stranger, this Raziel. The first person she’d meet in this new place. Maybe there was promise here.
ÅSE
mare. ten. silver blue roan. icelandic. |