Frey
”The seasons turn. Some are more harsh than others, that is the way of it.” Frey’s voice seems to echo from all around, and before the shrine, the offerings that the two visitors have brought bloom and become something else entirely; eggs become a ningo feast, roasted bird and omelettes; the fruit becomes a feast of colours, mouthwatering and perfectly ripe; the glass of milk becomes cream, drizzled all across the fruit.
And the tree charm seems to grow out of the shrine itself - a temporary thing, of course - and Nature’s aspect of Frey appears beneath it. ”Sit,” they invite. ”Enjoy.” They do not hesitate, plucking up a ruby coloured strawberry richly decorated with cream, sinking their teeth into it. ”I can understand why a little assistance around Deepfrost would be beneficial. But it will not be easy - you will need the assistance of all in the Citadel. Do you think they will help?”
And the tree charm seems to grow out of the shrine itself - a temporary thing, of course - and Nature’s aspect of Frey appears beneath it. ”Sit,” they invite. ”Enjoy.” They do not hesitate, plucking up a ruby coloured strawberry richly decorated with cream, sinking their teeth into it. ”I can understand why a little assistance around Deepfrost would be beneficial. But it will not be easy - you will need the assistance of all in the Citadel. Do you think they will help?”
