Was this a trick of the sight? It better be, because death was supposed to be glorious. Instead, Gry found herself in a world of shadows.

It wasn't Svartalvheim. The sun still shone above and Aslaug had taught her enough of the other worlds to know the world of shadow had no sun. So where was she?

There were trees and snow, but everything was blurred like looking through the mist at its thickest. She narrowed her eyes and things became the slightest bit clearer and saw.-

Gry backed away from what she saw, praying to the gods that it hadn't seen her. A troll, blurred like the rest of this strange world, but she couldn't mistake its rocky skin.

The vaettir was on its knees, face raised to the sky and shaking. If she didn't know any better it looked like the man-eating thing was wailing, and in sunlight, where it should have been turned to stone by the raze.

Gry crept closer. If she was dead, what harm could a troll do to her, unless they ate ghosts? Or maybe she should run, wait for a Valkyrie to find her. The winged woman couldn't be far off, not after the battle she'd had to earn their attention.

Gry crept closer still. She wouldn't have any Valkyrie see her cowering, even while dead. Might come back as a simpleton as punishment, and Gry intended to be a proper shield maiden in her next life or a fucking Valkyrie in this death. The Vaettir didn't even seem that big. Only reached maybe two heads above her own. Small for one of its kind.

The troll didn't turn to her as she came within arm's reach. She waved a hand in its face just to be sure, nothing. Good. Being dead had its advantages.

On the other side of the troll was what could have been a woman by the curves. On the ground next to her was something, no, someone not moving. Still, Gry couldn't see much through the dulled colors, but something glowed in the grasp of the unmoving man, woman, she wasn't sure.

Muffled grunts escaped the troll and the woman moved, taking the glowing object. The troll then hefted the body in its hands and the woman onto his back then raced deeper into the wood.

Gry looked to the sky again. “That was interesting, but where the fuck is my V-!”

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A force pulled on Gry, sending her flying just off the ground, screaming. Could a ghost retch? No, as she would have after passing through a dozen trees, each whipping her about.

Soon she slowed, flying alongside the troll who sprinted like a man. It leaped over fallen trees, bounded across a half-frozen streams, and slid down a snow-drenched hill with grace. It was like the thing was a man wearing a troll's skin.

The troll slid to a stop, head turning every which way. Gry looked too, first for her very late Valkyrie and then at the hills. She recognized them. Dalir was right there, smoke wafting into the sky from its ever-burning pitfire.

The troll took off again down a hill, then up another heading straight for the Hastingy's home, Gry's home, where it would be butchered before tasting one morsel of man flesh.

Good. One less troll for her kin to worry about. Only, there was another troll at Dalir's gate once they reached it. The light had dimmed and Gry looked up seeing too much cloud cover to turn the vaettir or at least any normal troll to stone.

Fool thing must have not found its borrow in time and was forced to march with the clouds right into Dalir. And now it had help, much smaller help as this troll towered over the other by the full length of a man's height.

The sprinting troll didn't slow, instead charging faster and howled. Its kin turned, spears and arrows dotting its skin and roared back. The bloodlust between the two seemed to thicken the air itself, churning the mist as they neared.

The troll pulling Gry along lept, knee colliding with the other's face with a wet crack. Black blood and grayish brain chunks burst out and it still didn't slow, heading for the gate built into the town wall.

To Gry's surprise, the double doors opened and the troll entered, still not slowing until reaching Aslaug's wooden home. The woman on the troll's back fell to the ground and ran inside as the Hastingy people gathered.

“Kill the fucking thing!” Gry demanded but no one moved. They just looked on, their words muffled by the shadows of the world she gazed through.

The woman exited Aslaug's home sometime later and knelt over the unmoving body, speaking words Gry could actually understand somehow, or more like knew their intent.

Aslaug's voice was calling to her, demanding she come closer. The wind picked up and more words came from beyond Dalir. Longing, excitement, and hunger most of all, pressing in, but warded off by the flames.

Soon Gry felt more than words. A force pulled her into the laying body and she felt pain. Rivers of agony hit her worse than that of the Muspel kin. Her leg screamed out with the familiar throbbing of a wolf's bite, but her neck was aflame.

“You'll be fine,” she heard someone say, then darkness finally took her.