we built this city on broken glass

A part of the war horse had near anticipated Raven not to follow him. Even despite the near casual attempt he made to coax her into doing so all the same Frost expected those fears to gnaw at her still. Every fibre of her being sure to remember their more violent encounter those few years ago and yet, even despite his more recently achieved state of apathy towards her (tolerance was perhaps a better word) Frost made little effort to truly remove those fears from her all the same. It would serve her well to remember, of that he was certain and yet by that same notion he saw little need to further press that fear over her in an active sense either. Frost content to turn his back to her and lead the way into the forest and wooded hills with the clear belief she would follow when she was ready. The woman seeming to steele her resolve a few moments later if only to trail after him. If anything could be said of the curly-haired woman it was surely that she had some spine- when she cared to use it. It was almost an admirable trait. If Frost cared to consider it as such. His attention readily shifted from those internal considerations towards her foolish prattling, her fingers clutching at the blue diamond engagement ring on her finger in a gesture that almost made her appear nervous and yet whether she truly was or not he hardly knew. Fidgeting was a common habit. His violet gaze lifted from that bag as he made himself comfortable in that clearing to meet her own beneath the fringe of snowy hair. Did she truly desire to argue about something that had happened years ago? Frost himself assured of that singular truth. Regardless of what the girl wanted to believe, regardless of what nefarious things he had been doing that night (and they had indeed been nefarious)- she had attacked first. And she had paid for it. His mind, in that, was nothing short of set. Frost merely allowing one eye to lift at her sudden revelation she had now never attacked at all. How much her story seemed to changed.

"Are you done?"
His distinct lack of care for the very topic was surely clear. Regardless of what had occured those years ago Frost held little interest in it any longer and yet women so often seemed to have that distinct flare for dramatics when it should find them. Tetradore was right. Still, the very sight of that book he pulled from the bag seemed to be enough to prompt the woman into silence. That heavy, leather-bound tome was turned over within his hands, Frost holding it out towards his companion then with that soft demand that it was to be returned when she was done. The equine hardly inclined to loan things at the best of times and yet in this he was inclined to offer some measure of exception if only by way of improving those pack relations as Tetradore seemed to desire. That Raven enjoyed reading was hardly a secret and more so, the woman had been one of the first to ever show a truly genuine interest in that culture off his own species and homeland. Frost not un-inclined to indulge her in this, even if only a little. The man capable of some measure of....kindness when required of him.

It was easy to allow his own affinity to extend in those moments Raven flicked through those worn pages. Frost allowing that soft, cold fall of snow to tumble down around them before the sounds of those approaching feet seemed to draw the young woman's attention in turn. That giant, eight-legged horse seemed to appear near effortlessly from those trees, its large, proud head lowered gently to the woman before stepping over that log to reach for Frost himself. The man allowing his hand to rest against Sleipnir's neck as he offered that explanation of that very illusion he had created, one that appeared strikingly real all the same. Raven's simple, nervous insistence that he had 'too many hooves' prompted that soft sound of amusement from the Icelandic fellow and yet he hardly pressed her any further. Frost instead content to offer her that one story. That offer, it seemed, prompting that deeper thought in the woman before that book fell open to those pages off Odin aboard that very stallion, those two wolves at his side and the ravens above. Raven's question of Odin's correlation to God seeing the Icelandic man frown slightly.

"Yes and no. Yes in that he is a head figure of the religion, no in that he is not seen as the creator of every single thing in the same way God is to Christians."

It was more...complicated than that and yet he saw little need to delve into those religious depths when Raven's own interest, he presumed, existed more with those stories and mythology rather then the intricacies of creation as viewed by a nordic society. That snow fall around them readily begun to grow heavier and yet Frost hardly allowed any real cold to find the woman, rather, he simply allowed that forest to shift and contort into something else entirely. That greenery gave way to snow and ice, that water growing frosted at its edges before that roaring fire seemed to erupt in that space between them. Raven in that singular moment, taken entirely into the depths of iceland itself. That very world carved from Frost's own will. The sheer power of his affinity easily and effortlessly displayed and yet he allowed the warmth of that fire alone to brush over his companions skin in some effort to lessen any fear she might find in that winter wonderland.

"Odin is the principal God. He is the husband of the goddess Frigg and often wears a long cloak and hat, he carries a spear named Gungnir, you can see it in his hand there. The animals you see are his familiars. Slephnir is technically his grandson, the son of Loki, God of Chaos. Loki enjoyed.....interesting pursuits in his free time. Slephnir is one of the few beasts capable of entering the underworld, called Hel- with one 'l'. Odin rides him down there. The wolves, Geri and Freki, are his protectors. They are always hungry. He hunts with them across the sky. The Raven's are Huginn and Muninn, their names mean 'thought' and 'mind' respectively. They fly all over the world and bring him information."

Frost paused then, those smooth, cool tones halted as one hand briefly gestured upward, those very ravens swooping across the sky above them, the pair separating long enough to peer down at the world below before beginning to circle overheard with those easy strokes of their dark wings. Those near erie caws echoing across that landscape as Sleipnir raised his head to eye the pair above with some curiosity. Frost contemplating hat query on Odin's eye a moment.

"Odin pursues knowledge above all things, he will do anything to increase that knowledge. It is his one goal. He is a very determined god. I admire that. We share a one-eyed affliction though I did not lose mine the way he lost his. One day, he traveled into Mimir's well. Mimir's Well exists at the base of Yggdrasil, that is the world tree. The water's of the well grant great knowledge to anyone who drinks them. Mimir was a shadowy being who had knowledge unlike any other, he drank so frequently from the well it was said that he knew all things. Odin asked for a drink and, knowing the value of that water, Mimir said a toll had to be paid. Nothing in life is free, after all. For the price of an eye, Odin could drink from the well. So Odin gouged out his eye and offered it to Mimir- who gave him the water. Here."

Frost rose easily from that log then, the stallion stepping around that fire to sit beside Raven near abruptly then, Frost hardly considering how such an action might be taken, the man far more focused on that text as his fingers flipped those pages to that drawing of the world tree in all its glory. That tiny well at its roots and the shadows around it gestured to then.

FrosT