The Perfect Gift

Time to let bygones be bygones. I can’t blame Loki for doing as Loki does. I can’t be pissed off at him for taking advantage of my weakness. The sour aftertaste of falling out of love with him has passed. Time to move on.

I decided a gift to him would be a good way for me to formalize and finalize my departure from the tangled mess that was our “relationship”. A free-will gift, with no expectation of reciprocation. But what to get?

I have no altar or offering place for him in the Waking. Never had. I didn’t have the assurance of privacy, and he didn’t want one from me. So whatever I decide, it would have to be in the Dreaming. Oh, this opens up a great wealth of possibilities!

But just what does one get for a god? He is a resourceful bugger, able to get his hands on the strangest of things. I have to find something stranger. He is also fond of laughter, so I have to find something jovial in nature. A gag gift.

I’m planning to out-prank Loki. Talk about setting high standards!

I searched through the Nine Worlds, but just didn’t see anything that I could turn into something suitable. Either the source material was just too plain, or the source holders wanted too high a price when they caught wind of my plans.

Gossip travels fast in the Nine Worlds. Weaver is planning a gift for Laufeyson? What ever reason why? I told none of the intent behind the gift. The less I revealed, the less chance others can twist my gift to their ends.

While sitting outside my Dreaming lair, a bird flew down to sit with me. I get the most Interesting Folk as company, in the most Interesting Appearances. A talking bird? Considering I had a talking snake for a roommate, this is par for the course.

“I heard Weaver searches for a gift for the Vanir’s Wildest Fire.”

“Yes, Bird. I do.” Oh, this will be interesting. The bird’s shape keeps shifting. Someone is in disguise and not hiding that he (she?) is so.

“The Nine Worlds know of your quest, and have priced themselves as such. You should look elsewhere.” The ‘Bird’ has a point. Even Loki knows and is probably waiting to see how to make the gift backfire.

The bird cocked its head. “Surely, among your allies and bespoken, you have a means to go to other realms? Surely, there is a world where the branches of Yggdrasil doesn’t reach?” The bird flies off before I can answer.

Snake coils around me. “Where ever you’re headed, I’m coming too.” I point out it is hard for me to walk carrying a 25 foot long snake. He laughs, agrees, and shrinks himself into a 6 foot cobra that drapes over my shoulders.

Some discreet questions later, I find a means to put the strange bird’s suggestion into action. Stormhoof, is willing and eager to help me. He knows of my quest and knows “just the thing” to get. Even better, he knows where to get it and who to speak to about it. He is more than capable of jumping in between realms and pantheons. And he asks no price for his help except one thing. He wants to be present when I give Loki the gift.

Not a problem. It may be prudent for me to have alternate escape means anyway.

With Snake coiled about my shoulders, and my satchel tied to my waist, I mounted the thundering wight and held on to his neck tightly. At once he galloped down to, and onto, the River that flowed not far from the Lair. His hooves sounded sharply against the water, like claps of thunder. He gave a great cry and we blinked between worlds.

When I’m making the jump, entering the new world never disorientates me. When I’m a passenger, I’m completely upended. It wasn’t until Stormhoof had run from the main river to the feet of a mountain, that I had recovered my bearings.

I can tell I’m in a different climate than the northern climes of the Nine World. It’s drier, with extended amounts of dry summer. The forest isn’t as thick, and the rivers show signs of regular flooding. But I didn’t recognize the locale.

Stormhoof sees I’m looking around in wonder. He quits his direct route up the mountains and diverts towards a series of statues along a valley road. The statues have the appearance of a sphinx, but with rainbow wings, and a bearded man’s head. I recognize them at once.

These are statues of apotropaic sphinxes from Persian lore. I don’t know the Sumerian pantheon too well. I worry about making (yet another) faux pas. Snake shifts on my shoulders, assuring me he would advise me. Stormhoof neighs in agreement. I trust them both. And resolve to stop thinking so loud.

Now that I know where I am, Stormhoof resumes climbing the mountain range. My ears pop from the sudden altitude. In the distance, I hear the cries of eagles. We pass sacrificial stones, stained brown with the remnants of previous victims. I look on them without fear, and with morbid curiosity.

Stormhoof comes to a clearing. The ground and trees bear the marks of talons and hooves. There are worn feathers scattered around, dusty, shredded, and worn. I wanted to inspect them, but he refuses at allow me to dismount. Loudly he brays, announcing himself, and those he carries. A large shadow sweeps over us. I recognize the shape of the wings, those of a large bird of prey. The body confuses me. At first I thought it to be a gryphon, but the body shape was not feline, and the tail was not sinuous.

The shape sweeps over me again. Great wings stirred up dirt as the creature settles on a prominent rock. The hippogryph‘s peal shatters the sky and calls others to ground. Eagle’s head, wings, and foreclaws. Body and tail of a horse. Shades of deepest blue and green were the feathers’ sheen. The horse hide as black as pitch. In all, twice the size of Stormhoof. Now, I’m concerned.

Stormhoof waited until the entire flight of hippogryphs have landed and surrounded us. 25 of the beautiful creatures sat in silent judgement. The smallest of them were equal in size to Stormhoof. They eyed me, and the snake coiled on my shoulders, with suspicion.

Stormhoof began bobbing his head and whinnying. In an equine language, he spoke to them. I have no idea what he said to them. Only that they would sometimes look at me in surprise, sometimes in suspicion. Finally, he finished his words to them, and a sudden silence fell over the clearing.

I kept my most polite face up as best I could. The greatest hippogryph looked at me sternly. It tilted its head in consideration, then erupted in great cries and stutters.

Laughter needs no translation.

I leaned close to Stormhoof’s ears and whispered, “You told them everything?”. He nodded. “So they know it’s for Loki?” He nodded. “They know Loki?” He nodded, and chuckled a bit himself. I listened to the laughter of the hippogryphs, and relaxed.

The largest of the hippogryphs, the Head Bird In Charge (HBIC), shrieks an order. The others fall silent. The HBIC chirps at his (her? They are all in splendid colors, I can’t see a distinction between sexes, or even if they have genders at all!) flight. They all silently nod in agreement. The smallest hippogryph stands from its perch, and came up beside us on our right.

I whispered on the beauty of it’s plumage. A comment it clearly heard, as it lifted its head and spread its wings slightly. The HBIC allowed the underling to strut about for a bit, turning itself this way and that way. I noted while I was gazing on the beauty of its feathers and the sleekness of its horse hide, the HBIC was studying my reaction carefully.

The HBIC chirped. The underling extended a wing to me, almost covering my lap. Stormhoof nodded in approval. Snake whispered in my ear, “You have been given permission to take a feather. But just one feather.” My eyes opened wide at the boon.

“Um.” I stroked the stiff wing feathers softly. Each one was the length of my forearm. “Forgive my hesitance, grand hippogryph. I’ve never plucked feathers before. I don’t know how to take one without causing harm, damage, or accidental insult.”

The underling retracted its wing and turned to face me squarely. It cocked its head and chirped a questioning tone. I didn’t need Snake to tell me it said, “Seriously?”. I nodded. Stormhoof chuckled again. The underling turned to the HBIC.

The HBIC chirped another instruction. The underling preened it’s wing, then removed a feather and placed it in my hand. Dark brown with a vividly green sheen to it, the treasure I had been given was still warm. I looked up at it, and thanked it and the HBIC for the feather.

Stormhoof snorted. Idly, he pawed at the ground, reminding me of a manager making idle doodles. This was not what he expected. I started to argue the gift of the feather was already extravagant, when Snake tightened his coils around my neck slightly. Just enough, to shut me up.

The HBIC snorted in response and stared Stormhoof down. I’m not sure who won that contest, but the HBIC suddenly gave a series of chirps. The underling returned to its position behind me, and its neighbor came to stand on my left.

One by one, the hippogryphs came to me. One by one, they plucked a wing feather and added it to the growing collection in my hands. Those hippogryphs to the left of me, gave me a feather from their right wing. Those to the right of me, gave me a feather from their left wing. So they came, from the lowest ranking to the second in command. When the latter sat back down, I held 24 hippogryph feathers in my hands.

Stormhoof turned his grey head to inspect them. He nodded in approval and neighed at the HBIC. Snake asked me what I could make for Loki using the feathers. As I spread them with my fingers, an idea came to mind. Yes, I knew what I would make of them. Not a single feather would be wasted. It would be beautiful, extravagant, and unique.

“Grand and Lordly, I thank you and your flight for this gift. I assure you, not a single feather will be wasted. I don’t understand the language you and Stormhoof conversed in, so I don’t know if he told you this already. I am Weaver, a storyteller. And I promise you, I will return with the story of the aftermath of this boon. I will return, and tell you how the gift I am making has been received.” The HBIC cocked its head at me. Then nodded, slowly and surely.

Stormhoof then took a bow. Well, a horse’s curtsy, really. I did my best to follow suit, without falling over Stormhoof’s bowed head. The other hippogryphs took flight, leaving only the HBIC with us. It chirped a sharp order at us, then lowered its head for the preparations of a nap. Our audience was done.

I placed the feathers into the satchel, while Stormhoof backed away from the clearing. He turned and sauntered off at a happy gait until I was able to get my hands around his neck again.

“You know hippogryphs!” He whinnied happily. “Okay, you’ve jumped among the Nine Worlds with ease… You’ve jumped FROM the Nine Worlds into a Pure Fancy of a Daydream, WITH a character that belonged to neither world… And now you’re jumping between the Nine Worlds and Sumeria?” His laughter was unmistakable. “Lemme guess, you’re not going to tell me just what you are, are you?” He shook his head. “I need to just accept that my friend Stormhoof is a devious shit, and likes to shake the landscape with sounds of thunder.” He laughs as he nods. “And is one of the best friends I have in the Dreaming.” I hugged his neck as he strutted with more pride than I thought a horse could carry.

Snake flicked his tongue in my ear. “Don’t you be jealous, Snake! You’ll tie yourself into a knot with worry.” He bit my ear, but without fangs, in a playful strike. I am very fortunate to have such friends in the Dreaming. As Stormhoof prepared to jump back to my world, I find myself grateful for all my friends, Dreaming and Waking.

The gallop back to my lair was uneventful. All too soon, I was before my lair again. I slid down to the ground, more than a little stiff. “I don’t get it. You’re the one running. I’m the one feeling beat up!” Stormhoof nodded as he laughed more. “Okay, my friend. I have some tinkering to do. I’ll call you when I’m ready, and we’ll chase Loki down.” He nods, headbutts me softly, then turned to saunter away. As I entered my lair, I hear a series of sharp retorts in the distance, followed by the rumbling of thunder.

A few days pass before I have the length of time, and peace of mind, to work the feathers into something nice. In the mean time, I had made a request from a realm I used to Dream in almost daily before Loki conscripted me. I thought I would have to travel to it to collect, and to pay for the slats I had asked for. I entered the lair to find a package waiting for me. It seems I am still remembered fondly there. The fragrance reminded me of someone I found I still miss terribly.

“You know, you’re free to return there, any time.” Snake, in one of his anthropomorphic forms, starts untying the package for me. “You don’t have the reputation of being ‘Weaver’, nor the baggage of that reputation, over there. You’re still considered her acquaintance.”

“I know. And I think that’s why I stay away. Unless you want to make a trip?”

“How do you think this got here?” Figures. There is a temple dedicated to snakes in that realm. Of course, he has been there and back, many, many times.

There are two bundles in the package. One bundle, he leaves sealed and places on the shelves on the wall. The second, he opens and passes to me for inspection. A bundle of bright green thread. Twenty six sandalwood slats, carved into an open lattice work. Two slats are excessively long, they are the exterior guardsticks. The other twenty four are about six inches in length, with a narrow groove for the shaft of the feathers. These shall be the ribs. They all have such a delicate scent to them, I almost want to keep them for myself.

Then I realize. I had only asked for what I’m holding. What is in the other bundle? I eye it suspiciously, but hear Snake’s rattling in response. I pout, but return to my work.

The hippogryph feathers are sorted by size, and arranged from the middle, outward. The largest feathers would be in the middle, gradually decreasing in size. Left facing feathers on one side, right facing feathers on the other. It is clear now, I’m making a lady’s feather fan for Loki.

The sandalwood carvers are experts of their craft. The ribs are light and airy, but not so much they are structurally weakened. The wood is more than able to support the forces engendered by waving the completed fan around. And it will leave behind a delicate woodsy scent as it does so. This is not the overbearing “sandalwood” of cheap Waking incense shops, made to cover the scent of other aromatic herbs. This is a scent that takes concentration to appreciate fully, a meditation to allow to bloom and embrace you. Overkill for Loki? Maybe. Perhaps it is a personal weakness of mine, but I don’t give half-ass’d gifts. If I’m going to make a lady’s feather fan, then I’m going to make a fan fit for a Lady.

I also wanted the wood carved by neutral others. I’ve caught myself, more than once, working rune magic into mundane crafts. This is not the time for any lingering bitterness to express itself and lay a trap unknown to me. I want this to be free and clear of expectations, to be honestly given with no regard for retribution or recompense, neither in kindness or woe. But I still wanted it to have the scent of being made by me. Tying the arranged feathers to the appropriate rib became an exercise in patience, and a meditation in its own right. Thankfully, the carvers had included the hooks I would need into the design. (And even included a diagram with suggestions how to decoratively tie the feathers. A diagram I followed to detail. All part of avoiding accidental embedding of magics.)

The feathers tied to the ribs. The ribs arranged in order. A sliver of ironwood to act as the head on which the ribs will turn as the fan is spread. A decorative knot and tassel, made of the same green thread, covers the head and drops several inches below the fan. Now completed, I close it and face Snake.

He looks at me with a smirk, as I open the fan with a flourish and “demurely” fan myself with it, blinking suggestively at him. I’ve never seen anyone collapse into a pool of jiggling and giggling scaly knots before. I will take his deep laughter as approval of a Job Well Done.

I wrapped the fan in a length of silk cloth, and tied it with the last bits of the brightly green string. The gift was made. Time to give it.

It took several more days and nights to pass in the Waking before I was finally able to track Loki down. For someone that used to be in my shadow ready to kick me into another adventure, he had become more scarce than the feathers I had been given. Finally, one night, Stormhoof brays outside my lair. Loki had been found. Snake drapes onto my shoulders in his six foot King Cobra form as I get the still wrapped gift from the shelves.

I ask Stormhoof if Loki was going to stay put where ever he was for a while. Stormhoof nods. “Good. We’re not going to him, just yet. I have one more request to make before I can give this to him.” Stormhoof looks at me oddly, but says nothing. “In Jotunheim, to the northeast of that world, are a series of tall and ancient mountains. We’re going to the Old Man of the Mountain.” Now it is Stormhoof’s turn to look at me in surprise. He nods as I climbed onto his back and grabbed a tight hold.

I had only heard of the Old Man of the Mountain. I had never met him. I had heard he was an ancient wight, as ancient as the mountains he is named from. He is a silent witness to many of the events that has played out in the Nine Worlds. Not knowing what Loki’s reaction would be, now that gossip has whipped up expectations, I wanted a neutral place where retaliation would be greatly discouraged. I also wanted as many witnesses as possible. The Old Man of the Mountain had a reputation for hosting such events. Treaties had been brokered, and broken, in his presence. To break an oath made before the Old Man of the Mountain, was to have the Old Man as your immediate enemy. A prospect so terrifying, others have chosen enslavement and the breaking of their own bodies before angering the Old Man.

Though I was dressed in warm furs, I considered changing into my thurse form when we reached the terrace-like clearing near the top of one of the mountains. I worried for Snake, but he buried himself under my furs and told me he was well as long as he was next to my skin. The summit of this particular mountain fell away like a cliff for about thirty feet. It looks like some Giant had cut a terrace into the mountain top. In the near distance, I could see the frozen peaks of the mountain range. Well, this was the area I was told about. All I had to do was call the Old Man of the Mountain.

I dismounted from Stormhoof and called out. “Hello! Sir?” I coughed in nervousness. “I am Weaver, and I would to speak to the Old Man of the Mountain. If I were to bring a tribute for doing so, please tell me and I will go fetch it!” The cliff face echoed my words once, then only silence surrounded me. I wondered if Stormhoof brought me to the right place, when a sudden tremor shook the mountaintop. Pebbles fell at random as the cliff face developed eyes and a mouth. The eyes opened, and hollow glitterings stared me down.

“Hmm?”

I swallowed my sudden fear, and spoke again, even more loudly since I am so small compared to such a great wight. “Hello and Good day to you!” I bowed in respect. “I am…”

“I know who you are, Weaver. There is no need to shout.” The eyes brightened in sudden mirth. “The Great Traveler Weaver comes to visit the Old Man of the Mountain, eh?” I laugh at the epithet. The Old Man chuckles and sends more pebbles off the cliff face. “You are not frightened by me?” I shake my head, almost apologetically. “Then, I guess there is no need for all this, eh? Here, I will come to you in a not so loud form.” The eyes and mouth of the cliff face close and return to solid, unmoving rock.

A boulder that made up part of the “chin” of the cliff face shakes and unrolls itself. An imposing granite grey figure stands up and over reaches me by several feet. “Eh? I’m still too tall? I guess I am used to Aesir and Vanir demanding my attention. Not many of humans come here, you know.”

“You’re not too tall for me, Sir. I’m short among my own kind anyway.”

The Old Man laughs and pets me roughly on the head. “You call me, ‘Sir’, and mean nothing by it. I love this. From you, Weaver, I demand no tribute for attendance. This time.” Inwardly, I sigh. “Next time, I may have you tell me a story. I heard you are very good at telling stories. And good at hearing stories. We shall have to trade words for words.” I perk up. This, I would gladly do!

He picks me up without warning and sits me on a nearby boulder. We are now face to face. He spies Snake under my leathers. “Oh! It is true! Weaver has a snake for a companion!” Snake peeks his head out and nods before tucking himself back in for warmth. “Few trust snakes you know. Very few among humankind. So tell me. Weaver, Shamblings Friend. Weaver, Svartalf Friend. Weaver, Raven-winged. Weaver, Thrice-carved. Weaver the Traveler. What brings Many Worded Weaver to the Old Man of the Mountain?”

“If you’ve heard all that of me, Sir, then have you heard of the happenings between me and Laufeyson?” He nods. His action seemed grave, but his eyes were bright. “I mean to put an end to the not-so-open hostilities between him and I.”

“I have heard, that Weaver the Free would to make such a gift. And that none in the Nine Worlds were willing to help. I have heard, that Weaver the Resourceful found other things. Yes?” I nod. “So, you mean to give him this gift, here.”

“If I have your blessing, Sir. The Nine Worlds are full of places that like me and hate him, or like him and hate me. I would to give him this on neutral ground, where neither him nor me can claim dishonorable intentions.”

He leans back and thinks on my request. I can tell his awareness has left the boulder body as the eyes dull into mere pebbles.

After a short while, he returns to the boulder body. He pats me roughly on the head again. “Your idea is sound, Weaver. And I consent. But this is a tricky flame you speak of. It may take more than just my presence to assure safety for both sides. So I have called on others to attend. You, I am not worried about. Stay here, and tell me of the places you have been to, while the others arrive.”

He asked me about the world of the Waking, and the different ways humans have progressed. He asked me about the places I’ve been to in the Dreaming. He found the City (of Ook) itself to be boring, but was intrigued by the living forest nearby. He thought Ravenwoman sounded like a “charming lady”, so much so, that if he had leave, he would court her. Snake had to tightly coil himself next to me to keep from laughing out loud at the sentiment. He had heard of my trip to Helheim, and encouraged me to go back again, if only to the outer fence. He asked me where I went to complete Loki’s gift. I refused to answer, saying only that his question will be answered as the events unfolded before him.

In the mean time, those he had called on, did come. I saw a pair of ravens that looked very familiar. There were a multitude of avian observers present, some from outside the Nine Worlds, it seemed. Many humanoids, from the short statured dwerg, to the tall and glowing alfar. Thurses and Wights were also came to attend. Stonemen such as the one I bested at the bridge. Lake denizens, still dripping with water. Green hued carnivorous plant spirits, that if I were not in the presence of the Old Man, would have surely fell upon me at once. Many others were disguised, by means of masks and ill fitting clothing, or by esoteric spells that shimmered with obvious display. I know there are Aesir and Vanir present. But they are sufficiently cloaked, and I am sufficiently nervous to not know who is who behind the disguises.

Finally, those had been assembled on one side of the cliff face, and overlooking it. The Old Man moved me, so my back was to them. Stormhoof was directed to join the number of the observers, as the Old Man of the Mountain himself, spoke for my safety. Grudgingly, the grey horse did so, but turned to cloudy mist in silent complaint.

“Hmm. Yes. Yes. All are here that can be here. Loki is at the foot of my mountains even now. He knows you are here, and is eager to get what he only knows by gossip. But I have forbidden him to ascend until all is ready. Are you ready, Weaver the Sometimes Brave?”

Ouch. The epithet stung, but I did deserve it. And to be truthful, I really didn’t feel very brave now. Such a great audience! Who is watching, I don’t know! How badly could this backfire on me? I tried not to think about it. Instead, I reminded myself of all other epithets I had been called. Daring. Explorer. She that Goes Forth. Never-Quit. If those folks saw something in me that I didn’t, maybe I should find it, eh? Now is a good time as any.

“Old Man of the Mountain. I’m ready.”

He collapsed his boulder body and became the literal cliff face again. Soon, I heard someone scrambling over the far side of the mountain top. “How far up is this thing, anyway?”, followed by some mild fussing. “The human came up here, he didn’t make her climb like this, I bet.” Loki’s hand gripped a tree, and he pulled himself up and onto the terrace before the cliff.

On seeing me, he burst into a very familiar grin. “Keri! Why are you hiding up here? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of me? After all we’ve been through?” He looks behind me and scowls slightly. “You have that damn horse with you, don’t you.”

Huh? All the observers and he’s worried about Stormhoof? I glance behind me, and find Stormhoof has obscured himself, and all the other observers with a thick impenetrable mist. Well, impenetrable from this side of the mist. I knew they had no such obstruction to their sight.

I turn back to Loki. “Yea. Stormhoof brought me up here.” Loki snorts in derision. “It’s been quite a up and down ride both here and in the Waking lately. But I didn’t want to wait too long for this. And you know how he is when up in the heights. If he’s not messing with the weather, he’s not happy.”

“I’ll give him something to mess with…” He catches himself scowling. Returning his attention to me, he resumes his happy and warm demeanor. “So… lemme skip the nice, empty words that neither you nor I are good at anyway. I heard you’ve been crawling all over the worlds to make me a gift.”

I nod.

He acts surprised. “You really have?” I nod, and chuckle. “No… not after the last time we met…” Loki had gotten the drop on me, in an inattentive moment. He pranked me, and pranked my ass good. I have to give him credit for that.

“I know better than to fall into having a prank war with you, Loki. I’m completely disarmed, and you’re bearing nukes.” He laughs. “Yes, the rumors are true. I wanted to make you a gift. A ‘no bad blood between us’ gift. Some pieces I was given, some pieces I had made, but the assembly is all me. And I made it, just for you.” I pulled the silk wrapped bundle from my satchel. While there was a boulder between him and me that could serve as a table, I wanted Loki to be seen taking it from my hand.

I held it up, but made no steps towards him. He laughed, heartily at first, but I caught the nervous lilt towards the end. “Wait. You really did travel to other realms for this?” I nodded. “I had heard, but…” He steps towards me for a few steps. “Okay, what’s the catch?”

I feigned being wounded. “No catch! Really!” I smiled. “Really. A free will gift, for you. No one else. And there’s no runemagic on it, either. It is, what it is, without any help from me. There’s nothing here to trick you, nothing here to poison you. It does bring out the highlight in your eyes, though. And it’s quite beautiful. When I finished, I wanted to keep it for myself, but I made it for you.”

He started to approach me again. “And what do you want in exchange, for such a hardworked gift?” I could tell he was turning the scenario every way possible, trying to find an advantage he could press, a weakness to exploit.

“I want none, Loki, son of Laufey.” He stopped, just out of arm’s reach of me. “I want nothing in exchange. I want no promise given. I want no expectation to hang between us. All I want, is for you to accept this, as my personal gift, to you.”

“Just ‘Loki, son of Laufey’? That’s it? I’m nothing more to you?” He’s turned up the heat, and the charm. Too bad heat doesn’t bother me, and I’ve finally grown tired of his charm.

“Yes, just ‘Loki, son of Laufey’. No more hostilities. We’re on neutral ground, because we’re neutral. If you can not accept this, then leave. I run no more.”

He reaches out and takes the silk bundle from my hand. I hear Stormhoof snort derisively behind me. Quickly, I speak to cover him. “After all he’s been through to help me gather stuff for this, he thinks it’s too good for you.” Stormhoof, in agreement, quickly snorts even louder.

Smugly, Loki backs up holding the bundle. He stops when I’m out of arm’s reach, unable to snatch the gift back. “My dear, nothing you can make is ‘too good’ for me. I’ve held treasures more rare than whatever you have hidden here. If anything, be glad that I am willing to reach this “equal” point with you, and accept this.”

I sigh, half to appear resigned to the inequality of mortal/god relationships, half to keep from bursting into peals of laughter myself. Loki takes my sigh as surrender, and starts unwrapping the bundle.

The silk falls to the ground as the delicate scent of sandalwood mingles with the floral scent I have always smelled from Loki. (He gets it, and his green eyes, from his mother, you know.) The green tassel drops from the still closed fan as Loki holds it up before him, suddenly wary. “What…?”

“So, I had been searching all over the Nine Worlds for something special, something extravagant, something unique that only the flamboyance of Loki would be able to carry off. Because, I do know how much you love to carry off, and show off!” I couldn’t help but grin now.

He grit his teeth, and set his jaw, but he did not drop the fan. But he didn’t open it, either. “What. Is. This?”

I started explaining with the most nonchalant tones I could muster up. “Well, the ribs are made of sandalwood, that’s where the woodsy scent comes from. If you wave it around, you’ll get more scent. And the feathers are…”

“I didn’t ask what it is made of! I asked what is it!” He gave a little stomp and his fingers slipped on the fan, slightly. He caught it before it fell, but only by one guardstick. The fan slid open with a barely heard sigh. He stared at it like it was a three-eyed fish, expecting it to reach up and bite him on the nose any second.

With a deadpan face, I answered, “It’s a fan. A Lady’s Fan, to be precise. A refined gift for a refined man. But you haven’t heard what makes it special and just for you.”. He shifts his stare from the fan, to me, in expectation. “The feathers. They’re hippogryph feathers. Horse feathers! Unheard of in my Waking world!”

Stormhoof can’t hold his demeanor anymore. Great peals of equine laughter rolled through the mist behind me. Loki’s eye started twitching. “Horse? Feathers?” He turns to stare at the fan again. “Horse. Feathers. Hippo…” A realization pales his face. “Hippogryph feathers? You gathered hippogryph feathers and survived?”

This was my shining moment, but I found I couldn’t join Stormhoof in the laughter. Not from any remorse, but because I didn’t want to miss a single moment. “I didn’t gather them.” Loki looked up at me again, the unspoken question furrowing his brow. “I asked for them. From the hippogryphs. I asked for them, and told them I was making you a gift. And they gave them to me, so I could make you a gift. The gift you are holding even now. Even if you are holding it by the wrong end.” I point to the tassel. “Where the tassel is attached should point down.”

“They… knew… and they gave you the feathers, anyway?” I nodded. He turned the fan to and fro, then settled on holding the fan properly, before calmly wielding the only weapon the Old Man of the Mountain will allow him to raise. “Weaver. You’re lying. You have to be. You’re telling a fanciful story. No hippogryph would willingly give you feathers, for me.”

“ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR, SON OF LAUFEY?” The heat that ignited within me chased Snake out from under my furs. His movement distracted me just enough to keep me from indulging in the rage that cried for blood and entrails. “The very feathers in your hand will cry out in my defense! Stormhoof took me to them, and spoke with them on my behalf. Then I spoke, and told them truely, my intentions. And still, they plucked feathers from themselves and placed them in my hands, that Loki’s Gift may be beautiful and without blemish. Do you speak against them, Loki? Do you challenge them, as well?”

Calmly, Loki closed the fan. “No. I do not challenge now. For as you said, the very feathers speak in your defense. These are hippogryph feathers, freely given. You are indeed, very resourceful, Ke… Weaver, to have been able to obtain these, for me.” His face swung between a deep rage and a deep sadness. I suddenly was ashamed to have so great an audience watching.

As if seeing the mist behind me for the first time, Loki gripped the fan tightly. “The mist remains. Yet I hear no thunder from Stormhoof’s prancing. What are you hiding, Ke… Weaver?”

The Old Man opened his cliff face eyes and his cliff face mouth. “By my instruction, the observers have been hidden.”

Loki now started to register panic. “Observers?”

The Old Man commanded Stormhoof. “Release the clouds you have summoned. Let all be seen by all.” He neighed a sound of compliance, and the air behind me warmed as the mists dispersed. I didn’t turn around to look upon the observers again. I kept my gaze on Loki’s face. Some he knew, and some he didn’t. Some he was surprised to see and some he was angered. Some of the observers had been laughing all this time, and Loki and I only now heard the peals. Some of them had been chuckling. And some were so stony silent, they threatened to drag a pall over all.

Loki recovered himself, and his composure. He looked at me in a way that showed he felt betrayed. But he is quite the showman, and the stage was now revealed. He snapped open the fan fully, and laid the green feathers against his face so that only his eyes could be seen. “Well?” I tilted my head at the question. “Do they match, or merely complement?”

“They complement, Loki. The colors and the scent, suits you.”

He snapped the fan closed. “They should. Hippogryph feathers should only be worn by the most lovely, you know.” With a haughty air, he tucks the fan up his sleeve, in an almost Victorian fashion of snobbery. The ends of the feathers hung out, teasing him and observers. “And there is naught I can do, to reimburse you for the extravagant means you went to for this?”

I smiled. “No, Loki, Keeper of the Hippogryph Fan, there is none. As I said, it is a free gift to you, with no expectation of recompense or exchange.”

He grit his teeth once more, then resigned himself to the gift. Bowing deeply, he salutes me. “Thank you, Weaver, this is truly a unique and flamboyant gift, just as you said it would be. I can imagine what you had to do for this. It is good, then, we are not enemies, yes?”

I heard the bait, and refused to take it. “It is good we meet before the Old Man of the Mountain.” His eye twitched again. I turned to the cliff face. “Thank you, Sir, for allowing me to give Loki his gift here. I was first here, does decorum state I am first to leave, or last?”

The Old Man looked at Loki but answered me. “In this instance, Weaver the Daring, decorum… and prudence… would state you are last to leave.” The hollow eyes fixed their glittering stare upon Loki even harder. Now clearly addressing him, the Old Man spoke further. “You have what the Nine Worlds has been waiting for you to receive. Have you any further words to say to Weaver the Giving?”

Loki bowed before the animated cliff face. “I have none, Mountain Lord. I shall take my leave.” He bows towards the cliff face, then bows towards me, then bows towards the observers. He looks at me, and again anger and sadness ripples across his face. Tucking the long fan further up his sleeve, he begins the long climb down the mountain.

I, and everyone else, wait until the Old Man tells us Loki has left the mountain entirely before starting to leave. I don’t know why they stayed behind, the drama is done. “Your gift, while truly free and clear, may have repercussions.”, the Old Man rumbles. I nod in agreement. “But you considered this before proceeding, or you would not have come to me to host the meeting between you and him.” I nod again. “There is no bad blood between you, but there are other things, yes?” I smile, but neither affirm, nor deny, the accusation.

He chuckles, sending pebbles down the cliff face. “Go in peace, Weaver. Peace you brought, and peace you take with you. And watch your temper, you’re easily goaded.” I laugh at the observation.

I face the observers. “Thank you, gathered folk, for being witness to this. Not all of my stories are best told by me, I suppose.” Some of them chuckle. I face the cliff face. “And thank you, Old Man of the Mountain, for hosting me, and holding me.”

“You are welcome, Weaver, Svartalf Friend. Good travels to you and Stormhoof.” The observers started to mutter amongst themselves and leave. I mounted Stormhoof, and held on tightly to him, as Snake held on tightly to me.

On the ride back to the lair, Snake reminded me this “story” wasn’t completed yet. And he was correct. I still had to return to the hippogryphs with the news of how Loki took his gift. But once I returned to the lair, I was so emotionally exhausted, I fell into a deeper sleep at once.

A few nights later, I finally had the presence of mind, and the soundness of lucidity, to return to Persia, and to the hippogryphs. I brought dried strips of beef (okay, yea, beef jerky kinda stuff) as a gift for the hippogryphs because I didn’t want to wear out my welcome. Stormhoof brought me and Snake back to the clearing and announced ourselves.

The flight of 25 hippogryphs settled around us at once. I asked permission to dismount. The HBIC nodded in approval. I announced my gifts and asked permission to share. The HBIC nodded in approval. I opened the large bag, apologized I could not bring more, and placed the open bag before the HBIC. It looked at me oddly, then looked at Stormhoof for explanation. A few neighs later, the HBIC chirps to get my attention.

“It is my responsibility to ensure the health of my flight. Serve the others first. If there is any left, I shall take that.” The HBIC’s androgynous voice filled my head. I am not surprised to find direct communication possible. I nod and bow, and take the bag to the HBIC’s right. Each hippogyph took a piece for itself, in some cases, breaking a larger piece so it would not have more than its fellows. When I came back to the HBIC, there were two pieces left in the bag. I gave both to the HBIC, who promptly gave a piece back. “It would be ill for me to eat, while my guest does not.”

I accepted the piece and acquiesced, “It will be hard for me to eat, while I tell you a story. The story of how Loki received his Perfect Gift, and his response.” The HBIC brightened at the news.

“If your story is good, it will distract me from your lack of manners.” A challenge. Challenge, accepted.

Stormhoof indicated he didn’t want any of the dried beef, and busied himself nibbling on different plants outside the circle of hippogryphs. Snake was content to just drape on my shoulders. I sat on the ground before the HBIC, and started my story by telling of how the feathers were assembled into a Lady’s Fan.

Some parts they were greatly interested in. Some parts I quickly glossed over because it bored them. Some parts I drew out into as detailed a telling as possible. They found it hilarious that I made a feminine gift for him, and even more that it carried a feminine scent. They nodded in agreement at the prudence of having a greater power watching over me as I gave the gift. And were almost in tears at the description of Loki’s incredulous face.

When I finished the telling, I asked them if they approved of the gift I made, and of the outcome of giving it. The flight all gave their opinions to the HBIC. The HBIC, again, spoke directly in my mind. “The gift you made suits ‘him’ perfectly. However, we agree with your friend. It may have been made too good for the likes of him. We are pleased that he accepted it, and are angered that he dared to speak against you for our gift to you. But of that, we will settle directly with him. Your story is told well, Weaver. We are pleased by it.”

They gave me time to finish eating the dried beef, since I spent so much time talking. After I finished, I thanked the HBIC for hosting me. I promised to return if I found other stories that may interest them. I didn’t realize I was tired until Stormhoof started descending the mountain towards the river. I fell into a deeper sleep while holding on to him. Snake later told me, my grip on Stormhoof’s neck was so ‘locked’, Snake had to shift into an humanoid to have the opposable thumbs necessary to pry my hands free once we arrived at the lair.

Story telling is hard work! I only had to remember the details until I was able to start typing up the ten night’s worth of dreaming onto the computer. How great then, was the mental fortitude of those that had to remember now only their own stories, but the generations and generations of stories that preceded them. If I’m going to live up to my name as Weaver of Stories, I have a lot to learn. A lot to experience. A lot of work. I’m up for the challenge.

Of all my hard work, I have only one “tangible” souvenir. A sandalwood scented bundle that Snake had sent from the land of the nagas. He still won’t allow me to peek into the package. He only leaves me with a promise that when I need it, it will be there. And that’s good enough for me.

Make of that, what you may.