[His voice, closer now, pulls her again. The scenery in front of Sif changes: from the brilliant, broken etchings of the Bridge to a forest. A strange, metallic taste in the air tells of Midgard.
His hammer strikes out, still. Furious, that someone would dare interfere with the affairs of a family. Of the gods.]
A painted star.
[Pathetic, tiny man. She moves to strike at the shield.]
no subject
His hammer strikes out, still. Furious, that someone would dare interfere with the affairs of a family. Of the gods.]
A painted star.
[Pathetic, tiny man. She moves to strike at the shield.]