I'll Never Tell

Insecure

Staring out over the arctic sea, Petra sighed as she waited to be set free. Ever since their arrival to Utgard she'd been cooped up in Loki's quarters and was getting stir crazy. Today she'd been promised not only freedom from Loki's rooms, but an outing.

She watched a giant Albatross dive repeatedly, resurfacing each time with a beak full of fish. The raging waves that crashed against the mountainous cliffs made her shift uncomfortably, despite the distance.

Prior to being dumped on Jötunheim, she'd never seen a the sea. Svartalfheim had oceans, of course, but she'd never been to the coast.

Petra jerked out of her thoughts when a raspy voice called from the doorway.

"Lady, are you ready?"

The Jötnar struggled to pronounce 'P's'. 'Lady' was easier to say than 'Petra,' and most of those in service to Loki defaulted to the easier moniker. With a wary glance at the tumultuous water, she hauled her cloak around her shoulders. "Coming!"

Stuffing her bare feet into clunky fur-lined boots, the elf trudged from her personal room in Loki's chambers towards the hollering voice.

A flock of Jötnar women from the hunting camp, accompanied by Loki's lead advisor, Marit, herded Petra from the castle down near the harbor, steering her on foot as they wandered into the city market. The staggering space was packed with bodies and goods. Stalls crammed with tools, clothing and animals spattered the rocky seashore, creating thin alleys for customers to walk through. The group waded into the chaos, the sounds of bartering and interaction prompting Petra to uncomfortably cross her arms. The livelihood of the market outweighed that of the hunting camp. The shouts and calls of these giants were spirited compared to the quiet environment of the base where she first encountered the Jötnar.

As they neared the shore, cluttered with fishermen and women tethering their boats and gutting their catch on the docks, Petra wrinkled her nose.

"What's that stench?".

Marit squinted at the elf, sniffing the air. "Oh, that? It's fish, Lady. You've never smelled it before?"

Petra made a face, "Never. It's awful."

Marit shrugged a shoulder, "You get used to it."

The Dökkálfr grimaced with a nod, making a mental note to avoid touching anything that came from the sea.

The noise faded as they drew near the coastline, the shouts and chatter dissipating into the air and Petra's muscles unclenched, her arms dropping loosely to her sides as she relaxed.

The women surrounding her stayed occupied. One traded sea glass for a loaf of bread while Marit haggled with a shop owner over two enormous snow geese. Purchase made, the advisor shoved the birds at a spluttering Petra as she stalked off to another stall stocked with nets and hooks. She returned a moment later with a box the size of her hand.

"My mate, he fishes," she explained, holding up the container.

Wrestling with the poultry, Petra managed a nod, trotting to keep up with Marit as she bustled off to the next shop along the shore.

By the time they made their way back to the inland market, word that the Dark Elf had come out of concealment had spread. Conversations halted mid-sentence as Petra's group passed, both speakers rendered speechless by the exotic foreigner. Her white hair and dark blue-gray skin stuck out against the purer indigo flesh of the giants.

The shift of attention was palpable, leaving Petra feeling horribly vulnerable. She clutched the geese to her chest as each pair of red eyes locked onto her.