Moonsong Glacier freyja's tears

Already she had forgotten his calling! She was despondent. She was back on the ice in the everdark and could not hold on to reality; not without her man there, not without the familiarity that the village had afforded her. Gone, all of it. Gone.

She thinks, and sits, and watches him again. Eyes wide and shining—but otherwise passive in affect, her voice going quiet.

Many came to call on my man, Dutch. Many women. Some stayed long enough to meet others, and take them away. That was what she'd witnessed of their visitors—they had not been family in the end, only coming to steal away those that made up the village. She had been right to be wary.

It was a good place. It was good. But somehow it wasn't good enough.