09-24-2012, 03:29 AM
Sigurd could feel the chill as the wind picked up. His sore body shook as the icy breeze cut through the stitching in his furs. His lungs burned as he breathed in the cool air. The short winter days were getting shorter Sigurd recalled as the already began to make its decent back down from the sky.
“The wolves are running faster,” Sigurd said aloud. The though amused him. The tales of the god were woven throughout his childhood, his weapon training punctuated by the poems and songs. The wolf he made reference to chased the sun across the sky. Soon the moon would appear, chased by its own wolf.
Sigurd made his way back to the cabin. He had to tell Vana, the elderly woman, about the strange bear prints in the wood. She claimed to be the granddaughter of the Vanir Frey. Sigurd knew that the Aesir gave Frey Álfheimr, the realm of the Elves and fairies. Maybe the old woman held some knowledge of the unknown. The sun set lower in the sky as Sigurd approached the cabin.
In front of the cabin a deer was grazing on some grass tuffs that poked through the snow. The deer was clearly male and stood tall and majestic as the fur clad warrior approached. The deers antlers were large and perfectly symmetrical. The deer met Sigurd’s eyes and the animal jolted in to the woods. As he approached the door he could hear the noise of the singing.
The voice made him not notice the deer left no foot prints.
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