Floriography // A Loki Fanfiction

Chapter Seven: Juniperus Saxatilis

Loke carried the woman over his shoulder as she fussed more, drawing the attention of a few of the villagers. He walked past the end of the longhouse and spied a perfect patch of thick fluffy untouched snow to toss her in. The snow exploded into a small puff of white when she landed.

"Loki!" She huffed in anger quickly rolling onto her back and propping up on her elbows. Snow stuck to her cheeks and clung to her hair. The red in her face now from the sheer icy cold.

He did not like hearing his name in this tone, as she looked at him he placed a finger to his lips to remind her that he was not Loki, but Loke.

"Loke." She said in a little less angry manner, he was amused that she rolled her eyes at him.

His head tipped as if to ask: Yes? Then he felt cold wet snow hit him in the face. She'd balled up the frozen fluffy water and thrown it at him. What he saw when he opened his eyes was her form holding a hand over her mouth not doing anything to hide the wide grin underneath and trying to keep from laughing outright.

He crouched down. Her giggles subsided when he scooped a large amount of snow into both arms. His own mischievous grin across his face.

"Loke. Nei." He watched as she started to turn to flee, "Nei, nei, nei!" He dumped the snow on her before she could even get up. Her cry from the cold snow going down her back was followed by a burst of sweet laughter. Those walking by took notice, some whispered to each other but the villagers were busy with their own fun to be had.

She'd shot to a standing position and was trying to shake the snow from her furs and clothing. Satisfied by his petty revenge he held his hand out for her as a peace offering. The woman looked to it with caution, then to his face and back to his hand. Ever hesitant. She laid her fingertips into his palm as if she were offering something again. He wrapped his hand around hers and pulled her gently from the snowbank, helping her back onto the path that held trails made by the masses already. Once out she took her hand back, he did not try to keep it.

The woman pointed to the longhouse, looking at him with a questioning face, "Viltu ekki slást í för með þeim?"

He understood the intention. Loke shook his head No.

She made a thoughtful face, looking down then she used both of her hands to gesture to the longhouse. As if showing it to him then she said in a very slow way, "Langhús." Like one would try to teach a child the word.

He leaned towards her, "Longhouse." He spoke lowly yet flatly.

"Long-hús." She repeated.

He realized how similar those two words actually were. Hm. Loke slid his arm under hers and took her by the crook of the elbow then with his other hand he pointed to a different building.

"... Langhús." She spoke dully. Okay, well it was not like he could tell most of these primitive shelters apart, "Oh!" She seemed to have an epiphany. Pointing to the first longhouse, "Veislusalur Long-hús," then to the second building he'd pointed out, "Long-hús. Nágrannar mínir eru heima." This started a trend, one he intended, of them walking and her pointing to buildings saying what they were. Thankfully not all of them were longhouses. He could tell what some of them were used for. One held chickens, another seemed to be a root cellar, and when she opened the door of one building to show him the inside the aroma of curing game meat came unpleasantly. There was one thing he noticed that was not here last time he was and that was an outer wall, log palisades built up between them and the forest. He pointed to it as they got closer to the opening that allowed them passage between the barrier to go in and out of the village.