Navigating through Fimbulwinter was a nightmare. While you were out gathering supplies to keep warm, a storm blew in, a blizzard tearing through the forest.

You were barely able to see through the flakes of snow as you walked. Winters in Midgard were usually harsh, but nothing compared to this. The air was so cold that it made your bones ache. Your fingers were so numb, it felt like one gust of wind could make them blow to dust. But still, you pushed on.

As you struggled to make your way through the storm, you found yourself approaching a clearing. Through the shadows, you started to see a warm orange glow that broke through the dense flurries of snow. Soon enough, the picture before you became a little bit clearer.

Somehow, someone was able to create a campfire that was able to survive this storm. Across from the stable flame was a log laid on it's side. That's when you were able to make out a figure, a woman sitting with her back turned to you. Her arms glided across the instrument she held, which you were able to recognize as a sword she was sharpening.

As you slowly inches towards the woman, you felt the snow beneath your feet shift before vines shot up from the ground & wrapped harshly around your wrists & ankles, restraining you. That's when the woman spoke, her back still turned to you.

Freya: "...Who are you.."