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The space between worlds spat them out.
He barely registered that they’d arrived in darkness before he choked on it. On the - not air. Water. They were surrounded by cold, dark water.
He kicked, tugged on Hirka’s hand to make her follow him, follow him in the direction he thought must be up - but there was a roof - or maybe a wall? A floor? - blocking their way. He changed directions, reached out to try to feel for an opening that had to be there - but nothing.
He bound the Might, felt it echo and grow through his connection with Hirka, tried to reach out to make sense of the world around them - but his lungs were burning, demanding the air that was not there, making him dizzy, making him let go of her to claw at his throat, uselessly.
What a way to go. Drowned before they’d even had a chance to see their first world together.
What a waste.
Hands seized him, the pin-pricks of claws against his upper arms making him flail against an unseen threat - or two. Two sets of claws trapped him, yanked at him - and then somebody was in front of him, a body to collide with, and claws came up to cradle his head, to squeeze his nose shut and something pressed against his face.
Something tickled against his lips.
Enlightenment dawned and he opened his mouth, feeling the stranger’s lips part and the tickle of bubbles escaping before they sealed against his greedy mouth, gulping down the precious air he was offered.
A claw tap on his cheek warned him to close his mouth again, and then the stranger was gone, the hands on his arms pulling again, halfway guiding and halfway dragging him through the dark waters. Down and up, right and left and round, as he fought against his soaked clothes and gear to avoid sinking, to avoid being more of a burden on the strangers than he must inevitably be.
Soon, his throat started burning again and he tried not to twitch - but then the stranger was back, or perhaps another, offering him more precious air. The third time, when his throat burned, he tried to gesture towards his face.
He tried not to think of Hirka as he received that strange not-kiss again. Was she with them? Being dragged, being breathed life into same as him? There was no way to tell, no way to ask - all he could do was be dragged along.
One last sharp twist through an opening of some sort, and the water around them brightened - not by much, but somewhat, and his guides tugged him in the direction of the light. He blinked against the water, turning his head to see - something. Anything.
Then they reached the surface and for a shameful moment he forgot everything except his desire to breathe freely. He offered no resistance as he was led along, his feet slamming against - the bottom? No, steps! Some great sort of staircase, and he halfway floated, halfway crawled out of the water, coughing and shaking like a wet dog.
From somewhere close he heard Hirka’s voice, rough and coughing as well.
Shuddering he bound the Might, drew on its heat, and he managed to roll over and push himself up on his elbows, looking back at the water.
At the person in it, fluttering gills on a broad neck and bulging eyes blinking slowly at him once, twice, before falling backwards into the water, turning as it goes. A broad tail, scaly and iridescent, swung up in the air, poised for a moment before slamming back down and then the person was gone.
Leaving Rime and Hirka shaking, soaking wet, but alive.
***
It took some time before they were both able to climb to their feet and survey their surroundings. The waterlings had brought them to - a tower ruin of some sort, he decided, studying the sweeping steps disappearing into the water as if leading towards a lower balcony, and the collapsed winding stairs at the center of the floor.
“Look”, Hirka said, pointing at the opposite side of the tower. “A bridge.”
A bridge might be a charitable description, he thought, but nodded, fighting his chattering teeth. Even binding the Might was a slow way to try to get warm, and it wasn't like either of them had anything not soaked to change into either.
“Well, there’s no shelter here,” he managed, starting towards the rope bridge leading out across the water, its other end vanishing in the mist.
Their progress was slow, cold hands gripping slippery ropes. Reminding himself that he’s had worse during his training, reminding himself that Svarteld would have scoffed at him, did not particularly make his feet any faster at making their way forward. Nor did it help that his balance had been ever so subtly off ever since he'd travelled to the Menskr world
The rope bridge ended at another tower ruin, another bridge stretching away at an angle. That one led them to the top of some old wall, another to some sort of floating barge holding aloft a wooden construction, and then finally, finally, they stepped ashore on a rocky beach.
A stone ringed fire pit welcomed them, dry wood stacked beneath a wooden half-roof and a wooden shelter on raised feet inviting them into a low, cozy space lined with slightly musty furs. They wasted no time taking full advantage, getting a fire going and stripping, spreading out their clothes and gear to dry before crawling into the shelter, pleasantly surprised to find a wooden box, lid secured by a pile of rocks, which opened to reveal a feast of dried meat and fruit, and skins full of fresh water.
“Who do you think lives here?” Hirka mused, comfortably wrapped in a wolfskin and chewing on a piece of dried meat. “I mean, clearly this wasn’t made by the waterlings.”
“Nor the drowned city,” he agreed. “I suspect we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Mmmm. You’re right. First get warm, then find out who lives here.”
He jumped at her cold fingers, then raised an eyebrow.
“Want some help getting warm?” she asked, wraggling hers, and he found himself grinning, holding open the bearskin to let her slip inside with him, yelping at the touch of her body against his, her cold toes sliding against his calves.
Soon enough they were warm. Shortly after, as they lay wrapped tightly around one another, he felt her fall asleep, and soon enough he followed her lead in this as well.
***
“Well, will you look at that! Looks like the Marmennill were right!”
Rime sat up abruptly, remembering just in time to bend his neck to avoid slamming against the roof of the shelter. Svarteld would have been ashamed of him! Here he was, in a strange place - on a strange world - and he’d spared no thought to at the very least laying out some manner of warning system before falling asleep. Even his swords were not within easy reach.
The woman smiled at them from the shelter opening.
“I think your clothes are dry now. Do you want us to turn around while you get dressed?”
“Yes, please,” Hirka decided, crawling forward.
“You heard her, Revna. About you go,” and he heard somebody right above them, on the roof of the shelter moving, feet slapping against wooden planks. How had he not heard them getting up there?
Outside the woman - an Ymling, her tail swishing back and forth with barely controlled patience - was facing away, and he hurriedly grabbed his pants, glancing back and up - then froze.
An Umpiri woman was standing on the top of the shelter, unmistakable even from behind.
“Trove, are they actually getting dressed?” she asked, arms crossed and claws tapping impatiently against her forearms. “They better be, because I’ll be turning around in three…”
He hurriedly yanked his pants up, tying the strings and dragging a shirt over his head by the time she turned and jumped down.
The Umpiri took in the sight of them with what he’d like to call a typically superior Umpiri expression - and then she frowned at Hirka. She stepped closer, breathing deeply, frowning, clearly trying to make sense of the contradiction offered to her senses.
Hirka took pity on her.
“I am Hirka, daughter of Graal, son of Raun of the House of Modrasne,” she introduced herself, “And this is Rime An-Elderin of Ym.”
“How,” the Umpiri started before clearly remembering her manners. “I mean, I am Revna, daughter of Skarde, and this is my companion, Trove, daughter of Svend.”
“We are from Fiskarbygd, the village on the other side of the hills,” she pointed, letting Rime spot the narrow path disappearing between the bushes. “And you - you came through the Rings, didn’t you? The old Raven Rings in the Drowned City? Like the Marmennill said?”
“The Marmennill?”
“The water people?” Trove looked confused for a moment. “Oh, right, if you’re from another world, you might not know any other sort of folk than your own. I…”
“Trove,” Revna interrupts. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but she's part Umpiri. And that one smells like an Ymling even if I can’t spot his tail. Clearly they know other folk than their own.”
“Fine,” Trove huffed, then turned back to them. “But you are from the Rings?”
“Yes,” Rime nodded. “How long have they been - drowned?”
“There was an earthquake - about 600 years ago? It let the sea into the valley, and, well, that was that. People mostly spread out into the villages after that. It’s not like we really needed a city.”
“Then - why did you have one?” Hirka asked, diplomatic as ever.
“The city was there forever - they say it might have been built by the Ring builders. People used to use it, because it was convenient to go through the Raven Rings, that’s what the Elders say. But once the Rings closed? It’s hard to grow food in marble squares, so it’s not like that many people wanted to live there anyway.”
“But now the Rings are open again,” Revna commented, matter of factly. “The Marmennill insisted we build the shelter three years ago, so we did to make them stop chattering. And here you are.”
***
“If you have any more questions - any questions at all,” Rime said, looking out at the room full of Ymlings, “don’t hesitate to come ask me. And otherwise I’ll see you in two hours for a practical demonstration by the thingvellir.”
He smiled at them and they smiled back. Then they started getting up, stretching and lashing their tails in that way the locals had. Then they started filing out, most of them, while a few made their way over to him with follow up questions that he’d already heard several times and were ready to answer. Honestly, he’d already answered several of them over the last couple of hours, but he did not mind repeating himself.
No, the Might can’t make an Ymling fly - the powerful might be able to leap great distances, but not fly. No, the Might does not make people immortal - their children won’t be living forever, sorry to disappoint. No, their babies won’t suddenly start developing superpowers in the cradle - the Might manifests slowly, they’ll have time to figure it out.
They thanked him, the women and the occasional man, and headed out each their own way, to find lunch or do waiting chores.
Eventually, he turned to the two women sitting by the door, waiting for him to finish up.
“How are the classes coming along?” Trove asked, as if she hadn’t attended three of the first ones herself, asking questions and taking notes.
“Quite well, I think. And everybody seem pleased?”
“Of course they are,” Revna snorted. “Consider all the worlds that Ymlings must have gotten stuck in, away from the Might - and out of all them, ours is the one that actually gets a chance to prepare for its return.”
“Yes. Though - are you sure the rest of us won’t be getting the Might as well?” Trove asked, looking a little wistful. “I mean, our Umpiri are telling us it's here. Some of them are acting drunker than a Satyr at Walpurgisnacht half the time. Maybe it’ll just come - like a trickle?”
“I’m sorry. The only person I have ever heard of who got the Might as an adult was Hirka - and she had to turn into a flock of ravens and back again to do it.”
“What about the Emblings? Will they start getting born with the Might?” Revna asked.
“I - honestly, I have no clue. Maybe, in some way? All the Emblings I met had been cut off from the Might for a thousand years, same as this place. They didn’t even remember the Might anymore.”
“Maybe we wouldn’t have either,” Trove commented, “other than as a childhood story, if not for our oldest Umpiri.”
“There is one Umpiri who might know,” Rime offered. “But I’m not sure how you’d get in touch with him, unless you got one of those first ravens lying about somewhere.”
“Not as far as I know. Anyway, that’s not actually what we wanted to talk to you about.” Revna reached out and tangled her fingers with Trove’s, squeezing her hand.
“Oh?”
“I - we - we wanted to ask you to father our child.”
***
“So, what did you tell them?” Hirka asked him later that night, his head cradled against her chest.
“I told them I was flattered, but I had to talk to you first. They were very understanding.”
“Hmm. How many is that now? Five?”
“Six. I was approached by Hilda and Ulf after I finished with the day’s practical demonstration.”
“Hilda and - don’t they already have two kids? Those two little girls?”
“They do. Apparently, Ulf had an accident while hunting, and, well, apparently they’d like another child anyway.”
“I suppose it makes sense - it’s important to get fresh blood into the herd sometimes, every farmer knows that.”
Rime laughed.
“You make it sound like I’m going to be the village bull.”
She reached out and flipped them, planting her hands on his shoulders. “If you're going to be anybody’s bull, you’re going to be mine.”
“Jealous?” he asked, wrapping his hands around her waist. “I won’t do anything if you don’t want me to.”
“No, I’m not - or yes. Yes, I am jealous, but not - I know you won’t. You came for me to the Menskr world, you followed me here, I know you wouldn’t - I just.”
He rubbed his hands up and down her back, soothingly, waiting for her to continue.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have children. It’s - they’ve all been living here together for hundreds of years, Rime. Ymlings, Emblings, Umpiri, Marmennill, Kyrjur and the rest, and from what I’ve been hearing they’ve been coupling right and left. And yet - and yet I’m the only hybrid any of them has ever heard of. I’m not even sure I’d be able to have a child with an Embling or an Umpiri, let alone you.”
She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his hair. He stroked her hair and shushed her.
“Don’t be silly. We know it’s possible - Graal managed, didn’t he? We’ll go back there one day, when you’re ready, if that’s something you want - and if he won’t tell us, those Menskr you helped will know.”
After a while she fell quiet.
“Hirka?”
“I’ll think about it. I don’t know, not right now?”
“Neither do I.”
***
They spent the Harvest Feast with Trove and Revna and their friends, three days of storytelling and dancing and laughing and falling asleep in the soft piles of furs and woolen fabric in every corner of every house, only to wake and rejoin the festivities again and again.
Three days of gorging oneself on stews and fruits and sausages and fish and bread and cheese and that delicious yogurt both Rime and Hirka had managed to become practically addicted to.
On the fourth morning Rime woke to quiet. Revna and Trove were asleep in their bed, deep, steady breaths making the woolen blankets slowly rise and fall.
He slipped out of bed and went outside, planning to fetch fresh water from the nearest well and perhaps some bread and honey from the baker.
The streets were quiet.
At first it didn’t bother him. The entire village had just had a three day festival and ever since his training to become Kolkagga he’d woken early - of course most of the village were sleeping late today. Of course it was not strange that he was the only person in the street and that the baker’s shop was closed this morning.
He brought the water back to the house, intending to get some nice tea going before the rest of the house woke. He had to swing by the guest house he and Hirka had been living in to pick up the ingredients, then had to struggle with the fire that had apparently not been properly fed the night before and had been allowed to burn itself out during the night.
Hirka stirred to the enticing smell of the tea and kissed his cheek before accepting her cup.
Revna and Trove did not. Eventually, they agreed to let them sleep, wrapping up their things and leaving quietly, heading back to their own house.
The village streets were still quiet.
Rime frowned. Festival or not, some people should have been about by now. And there should have been a stronger smell of woodsmoke. This wasn’t…
“There’s something wrong,” Hirka said. He nodded and handed her the tea things before binding the Might and leaping, climbing to the roof of the nearest two-storey building to get a better view.
The streets were empty. The chimneys did not smoke.
It was quiet.
***
They found the people in their beds, seemingly asleep in piles, entire households curled up together.
The sleep appeared deep. Steady. Not a single snore to be had.
“Do you think they’ve been poisoned?”
“Maybe?” Hirka frowned, poking cautiously at Revna’s shoulder, mindful that an Umpiri startled awake might lash out with her claws. “But then why haven’t we been as well?”
Rime grabbed hold of Revna’s shoulder and shook her firmly. “Wake up!” he shouted, loudly, and felt a moment of triumph when she moved, shaking him off - only for her to grumble in her sleep and turn around, wrapping herself firmly around Trove.
Not to be deterred, Hirka reached out to shake her again…
“That won’t work. You can’t wake them. And you shouldn’t.”
The voice made them jump, startled, then turn to see an Umpiri woman standing in the doorway, staring at them. Then she shook her head in something like disgust.
“They didn’t warn you, did they? Of course they didn’t. Young people are idiots, all of them.”
***
Back at their guest house the Umpiri woman stuck her claws into the mug of tea Rime offered her. A couple of moments later she put down the mug, wiping the sludge off her claws with a rag.
“Right, I suppose I should start at the beginning. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dagny, daughter of Hroar of the House of Semre.”
Hirka started, making Dagny raise an eyebrow.
“You’ve heard of the House of Semre?”
“Yes, I - I met them. In Dreysíl.” She frowned, then remembered the manners Oni had worked so hard to teach her “I am Hirka, daughter of Graal, son of Hraun of the House of Modrasne. And I’m sorry, it’s just - you’re the first Umpiri here to introduce yourself by house?”
“I am the only Dreyri left. There were three of us at first, among those originally stranded in this world, the rest were all Houseless or Fallen. But a thousand years is a long time, even for Dreyri. By now? Apart from a couple of the Houseless I am the last person alive in this world to remember those first years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That’s just how it is - and I did not stay awake and seek you out for idle reminiscences. I did because it occurred to me that all of these young idiots you’ve been surrounding yourselves with, instead of stopping by to be properly introduced, that they’re all so young that they take the Long Sleep utterly for granted.”
“The Long Sleep?” Rime repeated. “So, they knew this was coming?”
“Oh, it wasn’t something that was coming. It’s something they did, just like we all do every year at the ending of the Harvest Feast. We enter the Long Sleep while the days grow rapidly shorter and the world grows cold and dark, because if we do not, we would die.”
“What do you mean, die?” Hirka demanded.
“This world used to be a wayspot, a neutral place to meet between worlds - for trade, for secret trysts, for all manner of things. But only in the summer. In the winter - and the winter falls swiftly and last for many months - in the winter this world is an arctic deathtrap.
When we were stranded, that first winter, we tried desperately to collect enough supplies, to repair enough houses in the old city by the Raven Rings to withstand the cold. In the end, we couldn’t. People started dying - Ymlings made bumbling by loss of the Might, Marmennill trapped in freezing water draining their strength, even Umpiri.
We had to accept that even if some of us made it through that first winter, we’d be so few that we couldn’t manage a second.”
“Obviously, you survived.”
“Yes. We were - not even a hundred people at that point, sharing just a few houses between us, when two men showed up who we’d previously thought lost on one of the last hunting expeditions before we realized that all the wildlife had hidden away and were hibernating. An Ymling and a Menskr. A couple of those who’d been using this world to carry on a tryst forbidden or at least frowned upon by their own people’s.
They came to tell us that they’d found this world’s original inhabitants. And that they had a way to survive the winter.”
“This world’s original - the people who built the Drowned City?”
“Oh no. These people - they’d have had no use for the city. No, these people lived in the high mountains and hardly ever came down to the lowlands. They certainly never bothered us before, in all those long years where people came and went through the Raven Rings.
The two men - they managed to persuade some of us to leave the city, to follow them into the winter and up into the mountains. Some refused to come, some just couldn’t - but many of us went, wrapped in as much as we could find. We climbed and climbed, following the pair of them. The Marmennill followed as best they could through the streams, and sometimes we had to carry them overland from one body of water to another.. One of them suffocated in the process. Until we finally arrived at the dwelling of one of the locals.
We spent the winter there, safe in sleep. In spring we returned to the city. None of the people we’d left behind were there. We found - bones. Some of them had been broken, to get to the marrow. We took what was left and fed to the ravens, as was proper.
And then we settled down to live, and when winter came again, we slept through it, safe and sound. The years passed and children were born, and they inherited the trick straight out of the womb, and eventually, I suppose, they forgot that it had not always been so.”
“Can you teach us, then? How to sleep?” Hirka asked, but Dagny shook her hed.
“It’s not really something you can teach, only something you can learn.”
“Then, if the winter is as bad as you say it is, what are we supposed to do?”
“If any of these young idiots had thought of it a bit sooner, the Marmennill could have brought you back down to the Raven Rings. You could have gone home. But the Marmennill are all asleep now, in their homes beneath the sea, and won’t return until spring.”
“So - we’re going to die?” Rime demanded, almost growling. He missed his tail. He’d have liked to be able to lash it the way he’d noticed the local Ymlings doing when upset. He’d bet it felt very satisfying. “You what? Stayed awake to get the satisfaction of telling us that we’re walking dead?”
“Don’t be any more of an idiot than you have to be, boy. I stayed awake to tell you how you might survive. Having done that, I will go find my winter bed.”
Hirka grabbed Rime before he could jump to his feet. She looked at the Umpiri woman dusting herself off and heading for the door.
“The locals. Where do we find them?”
“Oh, I imagine you’ll find him the same place we did. Head for the tallest mountain to the east, the one that looks like someone sliced off the top. There’s a terrace up there and an entrance.”
***
Winter caught them before they’d even reached the mountains.
They fought their way through the snow, bundled up close together at night to ward off the biting frost, then rose to keep fighting on. Gradually, the path they took started moving up and down the foothills, then turned into a switchback path leading up the side of the mountain.
Clearly, somebody’d been travelling this way regularly since Dagny’s day. The path was well maintained - even in the places where it turned into narrow steps there was good rope to cling to.
It still took two days for them to reach the top. Rime found himself wondering how the first group had ever managed to bring the Marmennill along for the last stretch. Clearly they’d managed, if Dagny’s story was true, but it still defied belief.
The top was a terrace, as promised, scuffed marble blocks covering the very top of the mountain, so utterly absurd in their location. In the middle was an opening and when they got close they found that it was a shaft, wide enough for a ship or one of those horrid flying machines from the Embling world to fit through, going straight down.
Hirka poked him and pointed, not wasting breath trying to make herself heard above the howling wind at the top. Rime had to squint to spot the top of the staircase she was pointing at.
They did not count the steps as they descended, each step bringing them away from the exposure of the howling wind and snow - and away from what little light the snow had allowed to reach the top of the mountain. They stopped and lit the lanterns they’d brought on Dagny’s instructions, then continued down into the belly of the mountain.
Rime estimated that it must have taken them most of a day to finally reach the bottom. The light from their lanterns was woefully inadequate as far as lighting the vast cavern went, but at least there was only one direction to walk in.
A sound like a vast pair of bellows, worked steadily as if by a giant at his forge, grew gradually stronger as they walked.
Then the tunnel they’d been walking through ended and they stepped into a cavern impossibly vaster than the one they’d been walking through.
Hirka stopped with a gasp right in front of Rime, and he barely avoided walking straight into her. Then he saw what she was staring at and, well, stared.
It was a dragon.
It was gigantic - glittering jewel scales covering a body the size of a large building, a building that would have been considered large in Mannfalla. A tail even longer than the body lay curled around it, and a snout big enough to snap up an ox whole rested on claws the size of a man.
Rime abruptly realized that the bellows were no longer blowing their steady blows.
“Little mice,” came a voice, deep and dark, “little mice, what are you doing here this time of year?”
The dragon stretched, arched its neck and back like a cat and spread its toes. It yawned, giving them a front row seat to a forest of teeth that would have made a decent fortification around Ravnhof. Then it opened its eyes, green cat eyes, and turned to look at them.
“Hmmm. Little mice, little mice, I don’t believe I’ve seen you before - and the mice do make it a point to bring me their new mouselings, to let me know their scent. Where did you come from, little mice?”
“We come from Fiskarbygd,” Hirka finally managed, being the first to force herself to open her mouth.
“Fiskarbygd?” The dragon lowered its head and sniffed, and they felt their hair fly in front of their faces. “You do smell a bit like Fiskarbygd, little mice, but only a bit. Say again, little mice, where did you come from?”
The dragon moved, the long neck snaking around them, encircling them.
“Through Fiskarbygd,” Hirka shouted. “We came through Fiskarbygd - and through the Raven Rings from Ym before that.”
“The Raven Rings, hmmm? So, somebody finally got those things mucked out?”
“Yes! We did!” Hirka shouted, and Rime wondered at how she managed to keep her voice so steady. Then again, she’d always been the braver of the pair of them. What was a dragon to the tailless girl who’d faced down every threat thrown at her?
“Hmmm. Good. It would have been troublesome to get the flow running again before the next mating season. Too many fiddly bits, little mice, too many fiddly bits.”
The dragon flexed its claws before settling its head back down on them. Its eyes started to close.
“Wait! We came here for your help!” Rime shouted. If they’d not been able to wake the people in the village, what hope would they have if the dragon fell asleep?
“Hmmm?” He counted it a victory, because the dragon cocked its head in their direction, even if its eyes were still half-closed.
“We were told - by Dagny, Dagny from Fiskarbygd - she told us that you could teach us how to survive the winter!”
“Oh, very well, little mice, very well. So demanding, so demanding. Come closer, little mice, come curl up with old Draumr, if that’s what you’re asking,” and the curl of the dragon’s body loosened. They approached, cautiously, passing from the rocky cavern floor and onto the vast carpet of moss upon which the dragon rested. They stumbled onwards, sinking into the moss almost to their knees with each step.
Finally, they collapsed in the tiny bowl the dragon had made for them, lying on the moss, hidden from the world by the dragon’s head and the tip of its tail.
“Ah, to sleep, little mice,” it rumbled once they’d managed to get settled, wrapped up in each other under its catlike gaze, “to sleep is not a thing to teach, it is a thing to do. Listen to my breath, now, little mice, and sleep with me.”
And they did.
***
The world beneath them was a riot of colours, rolling bands of them, as the dragon Draumr flew them across the world.
Three times other dragons rose from mountain lairs, three times they and Draumr roared and danced in the air, and all Rime and Hirka could do was cling on to ropes they’d been graciously permitted to strap around the dragon for dear life.
Rime tried really hard not to remember the details of what exactly the dancing dragons were doing.
All day they flew, all day and all night and a fair bit of the next day as well, then finally, finally Draumr spotted their goal and stooped like a falcon spotting its dinner.
The ring of stone - the Raven Ring - lay in a meadow, flowers in different colours circling each stone. They bound the Might and leapt from the dragon’s back, landing on the soft grass.
They’d barely found their feet before the dragon leapt back into the air, its wings beating a storm gust down towards them, driving them to their knees.
Getting back to his feet Rime stumbled and glared at his tail. It had been tripping him off and on for the last four days, ever since he’d woken in Draumr’s lair to find that it had somehow, impossibly, grown back.
The dragon hadn’t bothered to answer his questions about it, just offered to fly them to another Raven Ring, one that wouldn’t require them to risk drowning to leave this world.
“I feel a bit guilty about leaving without saying farewell to Trove and Revna,” Rime said, glancing at Hirka.
“We’ll be back. We’ll need to - I want to see their child. I want to see the children with your wolf eyes. And I want to show everybody back home that there’s at least one world where we’ve all managed to live in peace.”
He looked towards where the dragon was surprisingly quickly turning into a tiny spot in the horizon.
“It might not be easy to come back. This ring must be at least a continent away from Fiskarbygd.”
“I’m sure we’ll make our way back to Ym, eventually, and we know where to go from Ym to get to the Drowned City. We’ll just need to go to Earth for a bit first - I remember they had these - things - to let you breathe underwater.”
“Sounds like a plan,” and he turned towards the Raven Rings. “Ready?”
She grabbed his hand and they ran.