Hrafna half-pushed, half-fell through the shelter’s door. She lay dizzied for a few moments, before it occurred that if she shut the door, the wind would stop. Fueled by stubbornness alone, she shoved it shut, slumping against the pleasingly solid board.
“I see you figured out my directions in the end,” Gullveig said chirpily from somewhere nearby. There was the sound of a fire too. She could begin to feel its heat and with it the less pleasant sensation of snow melting through her feathers.
“Yes,” she croaked. “Though I think you’re only imagining that that outcrop looks like a diving seal.”
“Well, nothing contains the imagination,” Gullveig countered, getting closer. The witch lent down, checking Hrafna quickly before pulling her to her feet. “You’ll live. Still want to learn the mysteries?”
Through blurred vision, Hrafna looked over the hut: the hung herbs, the glittering crystals, the runes cut here and there, the healer’s tools on a blood-stained bench, the banners and books.
“Yes. All of it. Show me.”