Nanna had escorted Sigmund through the corridors of her hall, smiling patiently whenever his attention got caught on the carvings in the woodwork or the tapestries on the walls. Wolves and ravens featured prominently in the art, as well as stylized figured of men with spears, and winged beasts Sigmund realized were most likely jötunn. A whole history and culture of a whole . . . Well. Alien wasn’t quite the right word, but Sigmund couldn’t think of a better one, either. Because the æsir were definitely humanish, and Vikingish, but it was the ish that was fascinating. Sigmund was a geek. He loved video games and shitty fantasy novels with half-dressed women on the covers. He lived for the ish, and now, suddenly, here he was. Soaking in it.
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