This chapter is dedicated to FullmetalFairy for reading this chapter over for me. Tapadh Leat, thank you!
Pronunciation/Glossary
Formorian - race of Celtic giants
Puirt-à-beul - translation: mouth music. Usually fast paced, historically these songs accompanied dancers when instruments were not available, so the lyrics imitate the melody. (Poorsht AH bee-al)
Apples of Idunn - Idunn is the name of the goddess of youth who keeps the apples that give the gods their eternal youth.
Mímisbrunnr - the well in which Odin gave one of his eyes in return for knowledge (MEEm-is-broon-oor)
Yggdrasill - supposedly an ash tree, known also as the world tree, or the tree of life. It is sacred, as it is the tree around which exists the nine worlds. (ig-druh-sil)
Chapter 17
Nobody else was to be seen in the grounds of the gathering hall, and apart from birdsong and the occasional rustle of the breeze, it was quiet and tranquil in the land of the Aesir.
My fur bristled under my skin, both alert and wary about being on unknown territory, and brimming with the need to run through the lush meadow towards the forest where the musky smell of deer carried on the wind. Everything overwhelmed the senses here. The air was crisper, the colours more vibrant, and the call of the wild all the more harder to ignore. . .
“Focus on the feel of your skin,” Hati advised quietly, noting my sudden restlessness. “The way your joints move in this form, the way these little hairs tickle the back of your neck.”
My skin erupted in goosebumps as he brushed the rough pads of his fingers down the back of my neck where baby hairs had escaped the braids keeping my hair over one shoulder. He smirked at my reaction, smug. It worked though. His touch would always anchor me, and I had to resist the urge to arch into his touch like a pleased kitten.
“It’s the magic in the air here. You especially must be able to sense the raw energy that stems like tree roots beneath the earth.”
I nodded. I could sense it all right. It burrowed under my skin and into my marrow until I was sure my very bones vibrated with the presence of a primal, untameable power. My own magic fizzled inside, fighting to break free before curling tight back into itself out of sheer will from me.
Further ahead, Gná dismounted to allow Hófvarpnir to graze on grass by the shimmering loch, taking her shield and spear to climb the steps leading to the two towering gilded doors. They opened with a light touch of the goddess’ hand, groaning on hinges larger than my arm to reveal a hallway tall enough for Formorian to walk through.
It was echoingly empty. The floor was made of a reflective stone in swirling patterns of rainbow colour much like the bridge we’d crossed to get here from Midgard. Our steps obnoxiously loud as we walked along, the smooth stone cool against my bare feet. I craned my neck to look up to study the engraved, dark-wood rafters stretching overhead, depicting intricate knotted patterns and battle scenes.
Flags draped the high walls, and rich tapestries in deep greens and blues showed moments from stories my father had told me, captured in glittering thread. A few times, I swore the animals and gods moved across their tapestries, went from frowning to smiling, or sitting to standing, but I must have been wrong. . .
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The Winter
WerewolfWolves of Ragnarök - Book 2 Until spring. . . That was the promise given to us by Sköll; the blood of one of our own heralding the warning. We have until the snow melts and the first leaves bud to make our choice; but every choice seems to risk the...
