Freya was silently sharpening her sword near her campfire, the cold wind of Midgard blowing past softly. She could hear footsteps, but kept her attention to her sword with narrowed eyes, her grip tight on the handle. She could tell someone was approaching, and she could tell you, Atreus, were the source. She wasn't exactly easy to sneak up on, you should've known that.

"Freya!-" You started nervously, grinning, before getting vines wrapped around you tightly, making you gasp in panic, struggling almost immediately.

"You should've stayed with Sindri." Freya stated calmly, as the vines slithered up to your neck, squeezing. The vines were tight at your neck, but she made sure you could breath, and talk.

"Your father—where is he." Freya glared back, from over her shoulder, the mascara on her face drained down on her cheeks.