Kondo's absence gave Frejya time to think. Days and days, thousands of puffy, white clouds worth of thinking.
Had she been a bard, she would have written a thousand songs dedicated to their absence. She had, briefly, entertained herself with a diddy on Kondo's death. Fira had not been impressed.
What had filled her days most, however, was prayer. Even a Freeborn could talk to the sky or imagine their blood full of iron. Ironically, Freyja could not think of a time that she had ever in her life seen iron. She imagined it like stone, brown, brittle but impossible to scratch. And iron was certainly not in her blood.
Freyja's weaponry lie within her mind, and she grew tired have nothing to sharpen it on. Her shoulders rolled over mellow steps as she made her way towards a practicing priestess.
Whatever it is she could do, Freyja could do better.
"Are you accepting challenges?" she purred out, voice polite. It wouldn't do to soil her good name, would it?
hibi-tea
