Warmth is one thing that humans treasure more than anything. It is the comfort, the strength, the drive, and the power of many individuals. Ever since our mastery of fire, it has kept us safe from marauding animals, held many illnesses at bay, given us light, sheltered us with comforting heat, and completed countless other tasks for us.
Cold, conversely, has been one of the things that people shun. Unfortunately, it is one of the few things that can keep perishables fresh without the addition of chemicals. The cold lowers our immune systems, it slows our heartbeats, it can, ultimately, kill us. However, so can heat.
To die by cold is slow and painless. The arteries begin to contract, causing for an ultimate death by suffocation of sorts. Usually, one is passed out by the time he expires. To die by heat, however, is fast and painful. The flesh cooks about the man, causing for some rather unpleasant appearances. It is rumored that tissues such as the eyes explode when a human is heated, though we have never seen such a practice, so we could not tell you for certain.
Thus, heat and cold are two allies and yet two foes. Without either, it would be impossible for humanity to have stretched so far in this world and others. Pity they are so underappreciated.
Two weeks had passed since Astrid's encounter with Ingegerd. The mortal woman's belly has swollen enough that she can no longer fit through the window. Luckilly, the radiance of the sun has caused three quarters of the snow to melt. This allows for easier access to the outside through the door.
In the absence of Havelock and Denby, Astrid tends to teh animals herself. She has little time to knit and sew, but it is good to be outside.Occaisionally, she has time to walk to the lake (which is covered in ice thick enough to support ten people by now) before it gets dark. Norse winters are, on a whole, notorious for their frigid temperatures. This winter, however, seems to be the worst in living memory for the oldest of Rumptlesfjord.
Huddling against the chill at twilight, Astrid hurries her way from the barn to the cabin. Shuddering from the excruciating cold outside, she rushes inside. Slamming the door shut behind her, Astrid peels off her heavy snow gear and pulls on her warmest nightgown. Her day clothes go into a pile nearby. She vows to wake up early tomorrow to deal with the animals and then wash her clothes until she is too tired to stand. The washtub and her mother's washboard (which had been salvaged from the fire) hang from the rafters above her head.
Sighing, she begins to walk barefoot around the room. Finally, after releasing all her frustrations from the day, she crouches down and picks up the blue egg that had been thrust upon her by the Valkyrie. She resumes walking about the room, this time with the egg cradled in her arms. As she walks, she begins to hum a song that was never given words. Suddenly, as if struck violently with inspiration, she begins to ad lib words to the song.
"It is for you I sing this song.
It is for you I'll right all wrongs.
It is for you my world doth spin.
It is for you my face doth grin.
"It is you I shall protect.
It is you I shan't neglect.
It is you that is my light.
It is you that makes my heart take flight.
"It is the chill wintery frost
That makes me feel all tempest-tossed.
But it is your warm and loving touch
That helps me to endure so much."
Finally, Astrid grows tired. She climbs into the bed that Egil had crafted with his own two hands. Because it had been the marriage bed that they had shared, it is wide and lonely. Thus, Astrid has no problems sleeping with the egg. Settling in, she forcibly relaxes her body. The silvery moonlight filters through the window. A thin and light breeze floats about the rafters. After a few momnts of being too comfortable, she falls asleep.
The ceilings are high and arched. The fires roar in the nine fireplaces, each representing the worlds in which the roots of the World Tree are inplanted. Upon the throne are two birds and a one-eyed, hooded, bearded old man. Beside the throne lurk two wolves. Before the throne kneels a woman of blondish-brown hair clad in a swan-feather mantle.
"You have brought a fine assortment of souls, Ingegerd. Some are arguably better than others, but they are only the souls of mortals," the old man says. His voice is filled with age, power, and wisdom.
"Yes, Lord Odin," the kneeling woman replies. She stares at his feet.
"Whatever did you do with that egg I entrusted to your care?"
"I charged it to the most noble mortal I could find, as per your orders."
"And his name, the mortal that is?"
"Astrid, m'lord."
"A woman!?" The man rises, furious. "That egg is precious, and you trust it unto a woman!?"
Ingegerd flinches. "You requested it be entrusted to the most valiant, noble, kind, bold, brave, and strong living mortal I could find. Astrid is the said mortal. I feel she has the makings of a Valkyrie within her."
"Women are too weak to raise and egg of a Bishel!"
"Too weak, m'lord?" Ingegerd inquires, forcing herself to remain subserviant.
"Aye. They are not fit to hunt, to plow, to sail, to fight, to-"
"Bear the brunt of pregnancy, the loss of family and lover, the lonliness of winter with only a cat for companionship? Without her husband, Astrid must hunt, plow, and fight to continue onward. She, by the end of this winter, will be as strong as any man and rivaling the strength of the Valkyries! She holds much fire within her, sire. She will be less headstrong than any man I could have chosen and far more kind. She will be a good choice." Ingegerd's snowy blue eyes flick up to Odin momentarilly before returning to his feet.
Odin sighs, collapsing back into his throne. "We shall see," he remarks peevishly.
Background by Crow Designs.