Frey
Frey laughs at that, a musical sound like mid-morning birdsong or the rush of a sudden downpour. Crouching now before her, their elbows on their knees, they tilt their head. "You are a farmer," they agree. "What better offerings to a deity of nature than the fruits of your labour when tending to it?" Fresh berries, cream, honey, golden sprigs of wheat or herbs - all are the sorts of things tantamount to Frey. This side of them, anyway.
As for the sword, they tilt their head and consider, nodding. "That is true enough. Even so, if you'd like it to be more than a mere sword, I will need to know what exactly you'd like it to do, sweetpea. Unless a sharp blade is enough for you? Because in that case, I can provide the necessary requirements."
As for the sword, they tilt their head and consider, nodding. "That is true enough. Even so, if you'd like it to be more than a mere sword, I will need to know what exactly you'd like it to do, sweetpea. Unless a sharp blade is enough for you? Because in that case, I can provide the necessary requirements."
