{523 words - Summons Quest Part 3}

It took hours, working with hammer and nails and pieces of wood, repeatedly consulting a few borrowed library books, to get the single stable stall into a better state of repair. She was pretty sure she had a couple of splinters she was going to have to dig out with a needle later, and there was a nasty little blood blister forming under her thumbnail, but all the same -- Hvergelmir had done it. She had cleaned up and reinforced what had to be the ugliest, Charlie Browniest stall anyone had ever seen, and despite it all, she felt proud.

"Fair warning, old friend," she said breezily into the sky. "I am so very not a carpenter."

Hvergelmir spent another few minutes sweeping out the stall when she was done, lightly brush, brush, brushing little wood shavings and accumulated dust away from the stable and progressively over to the edge of the island. What was left was a very clean, hollowed-out wooden stall, now leaning slightly less precariously against the beautiful stone temple where Hvergelmir had lived.

Well, I suppose that's the best I can do.

Hvergelmir put her broom and tools away, stacked her library books on a bench, and went to sit on the lip of the well. She took off her slippers, rubbing at her tired, dusty feet before dipping them beneath the surface of the water to soak. Instantly, Hvergelmir felt a little better.

There were no visions this time, so she let herself just stay a while and enjoy the space. Tiredly, she slipped the opal ring and the signet off her fingers and set them aside while she washed her hands, then replaced her jewelry just as it had been. It was peaceful here. A good place to think. A good place to get away.

No one could follow Hvergelmir here. Not her family, not her friends and enemies, not her responsibilities. No one was watching, no one would judge.

She could just be herself here. Like Nephthys had.

Free.

She rubbed her thumb absently over her opal while she sat there, humming show tunes to herself.

Patching the roof and pitching the hay is not my idea of a perfect day . . . But today, maybe it was. Today it was enough.

After a while, Hvergelmir saw a flash of golden movement reflected in the water of the well again. This time, she didn't turn: not when she saw the glimmer of golden antlers, and not when she heard the near-weightless tapping of hooves behind her shoulder. She waited. The great caribou was close now; close enough that Hvergelmir could smell the cool, ozone smell of fresh rainfall and the subtle scent of clean fur. Drops of water spread tiny ripples in the well, and a few on her shoulder, too. She lifted a hand without turning.

A warm snout lowered itself to settle into her palm. Hvergelmir gave a gentle scratch to a soft, furred chin. In the swimming waters of the well, down below, Hvergelmir saw the creature, then -- an elegant old face, wise eyes, extravagant golden antlers.

Eikthyrnir.

She smiled, wordless.

Hello again, old friend.