#malicemead

[wickdcreatures]

          “ Fenrir, get back here! ”     The leash had been yanked from her hands, the over excited pup bounding further down the woodland trail. It’s very unusual for him to act like this, unless Hawk or maybe Casey were in sight — but she highly doubts that. So she chases after her dog, the sun setting behind the trees as they venture further in. 

And mortification floods her as she finally finds her dog, jumping up so uncharacteristically onto the leg of @malicemead. At first she worried her dog was attacking the man, no doubt trying to enjoy nature on her own. But upon closer inspection — Fenny is happy, giving puppy smiles and happy kisses. This doesn’t quell the embarrassment, though.

          “ F-Fenrir, that’s not very polite — ”     She takes the leash back into her hands, gently trying to coax the overexcited dog back to her side,     “ I’m so sorry, he’s really not normally like this. He didn’t hurt you, did he? ”

[unpossession]

@malicemead

Her finest wine poured out, offerings of chocolate and spiced apples and freshly baked bread, there is nothing to do but wait and hope that he likes the offerings enough to bring her some peace. She does not expect presence or apparition and she does not ask. They're thank-yous and offerings in their own right.

"Skål. To Loki." Willow takes a sip of the wine, a bite of the bread and lowers her head.

[krakahe]

           The pulse of the drums is as intoxicating as the drink, the fire roars higher when @malicemead appeared from beyond the party’s clearing. It’s a wonder it took him this long to attend. The revelry gets wilder as the shape-shifter god draws nearer the center.

          “ Took you long enough, ”    Sweat glistens from Einár’s brow, chest heaving as he steps away from the ring of dancers, pulling up two makeshift seats just outside the falling range of embers.     “ Come, sit by the fire. Let me pour you a drink, brother. ”

[stridshundar]

          The Icelandic woods were calling to him, beckoning him back to them. His plane ticket was booked suddenly, his wife and his job told as last minute preparations were made. Maybe it was the lingering scent of his mothers perfume in the wind that set his mind to his pilgrimage back home. 

He hadn’t been in these woods since he fled from home as a child, listening to the ravens call down to him from the branches above as his blood tainted the pure white snow that reached to his knees. That was the night Adríel heard @malicemead ’s voice, calling to him, laughing. Warm — a reason to keep moving forward. 

Adríel finds a place to rest deep within those woods, where the ravens laugh and greet him like an old friend returned home. The rot of the tree he leans on fills his nose, the dampness of the soil — the rains have already soaked the earth, preparing it for the snow to come. He takes the bottle of spiced mead from his bag and holds it close to his chest in hopes to warm it up a little to be made as an offering, as thanks, to the one that saved him that night, all those years ago.

[unpossession]

These types of celebrations are busy and loud. Lit by torch-light and small bonfires, the scent of smoke and mead fill your nostrils and drown out all memory of the modern world beyond the festivities. A few people know her here, introduced beforehand by her relation to Einar - though she can't find him in the crowd now from her place on the outskirts. Let him have his fun, she thinks. Can't cling on his arm all night, and besides - she's always done much better watching. She shivers, feeling a slight chill in the night as she strays a bit from the campfire, wandering back into the darkness of the surrounding woodland.

@malicemead

[wickdcreatures]

          There is a deep part in the forest, far past any of the trails, that she had found a while ago — it seemed like an excellent place for ritual, away from prying eyes and those who would interrupt. Close enough to the stream for fire safety but with enough level ground to make a good bonfire without issue. Despite the night chill, Tallah is stripped bare, hands raised to the sky that peaks around tree tops. Praying. Thanking. Leaving offerings in the stumps of trees or casting them on the fire. A fire that reminds her of @malicemead, of the fur mantle slung over his shoulders. 

It’s only a brief flicker, but it’s there — jealousy that Willow is able to so freely see her God. To touch and to hold him. It’s cast away quickly though; she gazes into the fire, catching her breath as she takes a sip from her bottle of mead.