Angels of the Snow : Volume one of the Pooka Chronicles.

Chapter One: Walking to work

The rain pelted the leaden glass window next to Enoch's bed. The rhythmic sound of the droplets beat a steady message of go back to sleep, but he had to get out of his warm cozy bed he shared with his precious wife Enid, who was still snoring peacefully, and get up and go to work.

Rising ever so gently from the bed, he tip-toed over to his wardrobe and quietly opened it. Getting out of his bedclothes, he swiftly dressed himself in the cool chill air of morning. Padding silently down the hallway to the kitchen, Enoch lit a lantern that he took from the nook by the door. Grabbing some kindling, he threw it in the cast iron stove and lit a fire to warm the room for Enid when she woke up. Putting the water filled kettle on the stove, Enoch sat himself down at the round oak kitchen table and cobbled together some breakfast for himself. Eating, he stared out at the grey wet morning through the kitchen window, with bleary eyes.

Hearing the kettle rumble, he quickly left his seat and grabbed, it with a towel before the kettle started singing. He stood and poured the hot water into his favorite cup that Enid had placed upon the short oak kitchen counter top, and made himself a cup of strong hot tea with fresh cream and honey. Taking a sip from the steaming mug, he walked and sat back down in his round backed oak chair besides the kitchen table. Enid's grey striped tabby curled purring about his woolen slipper covered feet, and he reached down and rubbed it behind it's ears. Sipping his tea, Enoch picked up the note that Enid had left for him besides his carved wooden lunch box.

"My Sweet Enoch", she wrote. "I hope today finds you well and may The Mother keep you and watch over you through your busy day. I love you, heart of my heart. Enid. xoxo."

Enoch smiled and opened his lunch box and carefully slipped Enid's note within it. He was sentimental he knew, but even after being bonded to Enid for thirty plus years now, they both still adored each other like they did... so long ago. He was lucky, he thought, smiling to himself and sipping his hot cup of tea. Things were good. He was still healthy at just over fifty summers, he had a good wife, an easy but important job in the Citadel, and how could he not love working for Gabri'el? Everyone in the Citadel of Asgard adored the Governor, even if the citizens of Vanheim didn't.

Thinking of work, he downed his cup of tea and grabbed his lunch box off the kitchen table, and stood up. Walking down the darkened hallway Enoch sat down on a small wooden bench that he had made with his own hands, that now stood near the front door. Taking off his slippers, he donned his still serviceable soft brown leather boots, and slide the slippers back under the bench so that Enid wouldn't be cross. It was her house in every aspect, he thought, chuckling to himself. Rising to his feet, he pulled his brown hooded great cloak off a peg besides the bench and put it on, pulling the hood about his head to ward off the rain and the chill for his morning walk to work at the Citadel.

Quietly undoing the latch on the door, he reached down and grabbed his lunch box and his worn brown leather gloves off the bench seat. Enid's grey stripped tabby twined around his legs, mewing and looking up at him with it's pleading voluminous eyes. Nodding down at the cat, Enoch cracked the door, and watched the tabby run happily down the street. At least someone was happy to be out this morning, he thought. Taking one long wistful look back around his cozy home and entrance way, Enoch thought of his Enid still sleeping in their warm blanketed cozy soft bed. Sighing, he stepped out into the grey wet morning and quietly latched the door behind him.

Even though it was early, the Broad Street of Vanheim was already full of Vanir's going about their business. As the wind whipped at his face this wet grey morning, Enoch was now just one of many souls making their way to work. The wet cobble stones of the Broad Street clattered with the ringing sounds of draft horses hooves and the trundling of cartwheels. The long Broad Street of Vanheim was flanked by wrought iron lamp posts that cast a warm glow of light across the bustling scene. Somehow, the glow of the street lamps gave a sense of order to the chaos, as did the uninterrupted row of stone buildings that lined it. Order was what Vanheim exuded even in it's architecture and the lay out of it's city thoroughfares, he thought, walking. Even if that order was unspoken or silent, like the Valkyries who stood at their posts along the Broad Street, still and unmovable as statues.