Raise the spirit of freedom

14 days. At long last. Time to return to Whiteface, the weather calls and home the store needs me.

Anyone wants to go skiing or snowboarding? Or just a good, plain old snowball fight in the mountains? There isn't much snow in the ground yet, but I can pull a few strings.

Dress warmly. Don't mind the wolves.


Hmm. Anyone willing to petsit a snake for a week or so?

I have a new friend to keep me warm. The contrast of pale scales against black fur is gorgeous, and the texture only surpassed by that of spiked icicles.

38 days to go, and my heart welcomes the impending darkness. Though Sól keeps shining during the months of darkness - how I miss the longest nights! - her light is bearable once more, and the ice lurks, awaiting to renew its hold.

Some things are better than golden apples, if one looks for the right spice.

New York, New York. You're not home, so I bring back a taste of it to your halls.

91 days to go.

I've waited too long. The 'Dacks are waiting, and so is my bow. I wish for a new fur the color of night to warm my bed.

The early season is on, and the tracks are running cold. Come, my sisters and brothers, let us dance.

119 days to go.

Time stretches and refuses to pass. Glass is not ice, it does not sing and crackle and thunder. But it has to do, as the calendar days stay on the wall even as the numbers move along.

The worst is over and Fall is not far off. Rejoice and dance, my sisters, I will be coming for you soon.

Every year warmer, the bill is always due.


Hunt and shatter and clean.

My, my, is Mrs. Claus knitting more this year, Santa dear? Because I sure want one like this.

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144 days to go. 144 too many.

No matter how much I crank up the AC, it's not enough. With the weather as it is, living in a freezer would be an improvement. You will never find me complaining about the winter, but the summer? Horrible season.

Snake is happy. I am not. I need icicles to shove them through someone's heart, anyone.

Nothing to be done about it, yet I cannot help being grumpy.

Just a little snow? Please? To break the monotony?

The earth is not dying, it is being killed. And those that are killing it have names and addresses.

What are you doing tonight?


Nightfall. It's hunting time.

152 days to go.

My wintergreen bushes are withering. This weather is inclement on them and on myself. Thunderstorms aren't enough, much less rain - I need rain, blistering frost, a fierce blizzard, the sky crackling and crashing around the mountains.

This heat makes me dull, apathetic, slow. I miss the vibrancy of a crisp morning covered in sheets of smooth ice. It feels as if the outer layers of my skin are peeling off, as the sun melts the glacial ice in them.

On the other hand, Snake revels in the season. He basks in the pools of sunlight by the windows, and the shine on his green and blue scales is gorgeous. Lounging on the bed with his coils wrapped around me reminds me of good old times.

I have a killer headache, and not even being inside, away from the heat, is helping it.

Perhaps it is time to return to White Face. If this weather believes it will chase my off the city, I have a bridge to sell it.


Drinking might help. Or at least mingle beautifully into the pain already in place.

158 days to go.

It's still too hot, but there is a chance of thunderstorms tonight.

Anyone up for a hunting dance?

Jötunn, yet ásynja... Some days I feel restless, and know not in which side I will fight when the time comes. Winter is coming - eventually.


Jotunheim, Call the Giants
of Chaos, all the wolves of
Jarnveden, all the darkness of Utgard!
Call of Jotunheim!

Beware the Giants, the Thurizas,
beyond the border of everything.

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The solstice has come and gone. The days are growing shorter - can you feel the wind whispering in your bones?

I shall spend tonight outside, away from the city, someplace I can look into the sky and see his eyes.

As for you, my father's first-killer... I acquired a beautiful green tree python. She's not poisonous, but I figure we can work something out.

I dreamed I was back at Noatun.

My head is ringing, and it's not a morning-after effect. I can hear swans and seagulls.

He is not here, is he?

I have found a nice apartment to settle in, which is fortunate because I doubt the hotel staff would appreciate what I have in mind for company.

I am of a mind to buy a snake for a pet. It has been too long since I dealt with one. Suggestions, Loki darling?

I knew I could smell something rotten in the wind.

Hide your wives, husbands, daughters and sons. Mothers and fathers too, for good measure. And stallions.


I am somewhat disappointed in my snake.

WwwwwooOOOooohhhhooOOOoo!

I want to go outside and dance, summon my sisters to join me in the revelry. Hailstorm in May, now that's delightful.


Beautiful! You haven't lost your touch, Thor.

For this time alone, you may call me snow bunny. This once.

Let it pour, baby. Let it whip and rain and crack and scream. Let the fires of the sky crackle down upon the land, blister and boil and make them weep.


I guess it would be too much to ask for a little snow on the side. Still, it isn't all bad, best lightning I've seen in a while. Whoever is the artist of this magnificent storm, thanks for the show, darling.

[Private]

Is this for real, or just an elaborate deception? What am I doing here? The snow called me, but it's gone now, and all that is left is bleakness, steel and mortar. Faux mountains.

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Well, well - look what the cat brought back. I never thought to find something quite like this. What an exquisite gathering of special individuals.