Underlying, Aerial mutterings shrouded in frigidity circumscribed the laconism elseways encompassing parent and child, "You ought not have come here." she admonished, tacitly.
The circumstance, ostensibly frivolous burdened the goddess with a bewilderment that bloomed deep in her cold, unbeating heart. That anyone was idiotic enough to walk into the den, the home of the wyrm, Náströnd. Bones half gnawed and aged paved the distance between two and Hel stood on high, watching mounds of disfigured skeletal fragments writhe with every ground shaking footstep the dragon took.
The íviðja disregarded the person as someone who wished to die and barely spared a glance as she ushered them from the shore of corpses.















