King Elk Forest ≼ sigurðarkviða i–iii

aw

beneath the broad roots of an old tree, she had built a small shrine — stones stacked with care, bark and bone laid between them, a twist of dried herb tucked at the base. the forest pressed close, damp and breathing, the ground cool beneath her chest.

she lowered her head until her brow brushed the earth, heat bleeding quietly from her skin into the moss. stillness. listening. waiting for the old gods to notice.