I'll Never Tell

Hate Myself

Before dawn, Petra awoke to a nudge to the ribs.

"Rise," grunted a female voice.

Eyes opening slowly, blurred with sleep, she scrubbed her face with her hand and grunted when a foot connected with her middle a second time.

"I'm getting up," she growled.

The Jötunn woman at her side huffed and went back to work, stirring a pot over the fire. The smell of simple oatmeal made Petra's mouth water, and she scrambled to get up. Still dressed in her clothes from the day before, she straightened her outer layer and smoothed her hair.

"May I have some of that?

The woman muttered something in her own language and spooned a serving into a metal bowl that she shoved at Petra. The Jötunn threw a spoon at the dark elf, who caught it gratefully and dug in with vigor.

"The King wants to see you," grunted the giant.

At his mention, Petra's mouth ran dry, making it difficult to swallow the bite of oats she'd taken.

"Where is he?"

"You'll find him in his tent," said the woman, her words heavily accented.

In his tent. She sighed. Close proximity to such an intense man ideally wasn't the first stop of her day, but it wasn't like she had any say in that.

Silently Petra finished her breakfast, staring straight ahead at the tent wall as she chewed thoughtfully. She hadn't been dragged into the middle of the wilderness in her sleep or kicked out quite yet. Maybe he had taken pity on her.

When she finished, she held the bowl out to her host.

"Thank you for letting me stay here. I hope to repay your kindness," she offered.

The woman huffed and took the bowl, stashing it in a tub of steaming water sitting over the fire.

Petra wandered through dawn-lit camp, relying on memory to get to Loki's tent. She passed groups of Frost Giants rallying together with spears, bows, and arrows, seemingly readying for a hunt. Their brows raised equally in curiosity and furrowed in disdain as she passed. Stares followed her all the way to the entrance of the king's tent. She peaked inside, knowing there was a chance that going in would only hasten her removal from their camp.

Loki sat at a dining table, sipping from a cup in his hand. He glanced up as she entered and motioned at the empty seat next to him.

Sitting was good. Sitting seemed like it could lead to something more permanent.

"I've thought of a solution to your problems," he said.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Petra strode to the chair and sat with her hands in her lap.

"Anything. What needs to happen?"

Loki steepled his fingers against his lips, his mouth quirked into a small, but devious, smile.

"As I mentioned yesterday, we only have three children, a number incongruent with our adult population." He gauged her response, quietly watching her. When it became clear he wanted confirmation that she understood, she nodded.

He continued, "We... haven't been able to reproduce properly for quite some time now. It seems something in us has changed biologically, preventing healthy pregnancies."

Petra watched his solemn face, nibbling her lip.

"We think it has to do with the temperature of the fetus. Infants have been born warmer and warmer, and it's possible they're no longer able to withstand the natural cold of their mother's womb."