gjalla flicked water from her coat with a sharp shake, the sound crisp against the hush of the woods. her ears turned toward him, then her head, eyes narrowing—not unkind, but weighing. considering.

somehow, i’m not surprised. she didn’t press the matter with questions, for the sake of her sanity. then freya. descent, stolen. freya, yes, she remembered her. vaguely, in flashes of fur and laughter.

there were holes in her memory she couldn’t reach until he tried to fill them, and the effort to reach back made her head throb. she huffed out through her nose, more breath than sound. exasperated.

a pause, then: she remembered a festival—the celebration of this place. it was freya’s, then. no longer. what of her people?