“A wolf without his pack — what a sight,” said Aerl the rabbit, teasing Sköll as he approached. “Watch your ears, rabbit,” Sköll bristled, haunches tensing. “Or what?” Aerl replied. Sköll peeled back his lips in a snarl, ready to leap upon Aerl, but the butterflies’ whispers grew in his ear — an indecipherable hiss, soothing him, easing the tension in his tendons. He found himself calmed against his own wishes. “That will be enough,” said the pale hind, known to these rabbits as Dust. The rabbits found it curious that the butterflies seemed to follow her will. They knew of no other hind or stag who could communicate in this way. “You may have the spirit’s protection now, rabbit, but wolves have a long memory.” “As do I, Sköll,” said Dust with an expression of utter calm, leaving Sköll perturbed that this delicious creature showed no fear of him. “I thought hinds were supposed to be red,” said Sköll. “Oh dear …” chittered Burl, the other rabbit. “You shouldn’t be here, Sköll … Odin isn’t going to be happy about this …” Burl blabbered, his ears pinned back with nervousness. “I can't bear to see the All-father again … The last time I- I- I- was a human! But that snake son of his— ” “Loki,” added Aerl. “Yes! He- he- he- banished me to this body.” “And what's so bad about being a rabbit?” Aerl asked, tone hinting that Burl ought to watch his words. Burl sneezed out of nervousness, his nose twitching. “Ah, well, nothing, it's just, ah- I miss certain … pleasantries of being a human.” “Pleasantries?” Aerl asked. “Well, I could focus more … My, eh, libido was much calmer.” “Enough!” Barked Sköll. “I will not be convened by any spirit to hear of a rabbit’s libido. If my grandfather put you in this rabbit suit, he did so for good reason.” Burl shivered at the wolf’s words, acutely aware of how tasty he would be to a wolf such as Sköll. At the same time, Dust whispered words on the wind, something the butterflies picked up on. Within seconds their fluttering wings coalesced, taking on the angular form of a hawk. “Can they just turn into anything?” Aerl asked, astounded by how many creatures seemed to slip from one form to another. “A being can transform into anything they set their mind upon,” said Dust. Sköll groaned. “And yet here you are — a walking, talking dinner plate.” “You know why I’ve called you here, Sköll,” said Dust. “Just look up.” Above the creatures hung the roots of Yggdrasil, visibly shrinking in the baking sun. They’d become brittle, the wind snapping off dried root bits and felling them to the ground. Burl moved to sniff one of these bits now, wondering what would happen if he ate it. “I wouldn't do that,” said Aerl, snookering his fellow rabbit. “No? No, of course not, you’re right … It's the world tree.” The wolf stepped between them and ate the piece of root whole. “It’s a tree like any other you fool.” “It is not, Sköll,” said Dust. “It is Yggdrasil. It is the world tree. It is where your great grandfather hung from its gallows. It is the tree that binds our world together such that we may all live in harmony. And it is dying — because of you.” Sköll groaned meekly, “The tree is not of my concern,” and curled up into a ball on the dusty basin. The pale hind eyed the wolf, seeing the despondence within him, and whispered more words to the wind. The hawk took flight then, disappearing out onto the horizon. She knew that without Sköll to chase the sun and moon, these endless days would continue on, eventually burning their world to ash. ** “Look,” said Aerl, staring off into the distance where a spec floated in a cloudless sky, and beneath the spec a figure wriggled in the air. As the spec and the figure grew larger it became clear it was the hawk, returning with Dust’s request. “Put me down this instant you infernal spirit!” Shouted the wriggling figure in the sky. The hawk acquiesced, bursting into a ball of orange color — a flock of butterflies fluttering about where a beak had once pierced the wind. Loki, that wriggling figure, meanwhile plummeted down toward the earth, smashed into a pile of dust and dirt, and laid limp on the ground beside Sköll, Dust, Aerl and Burl. “Welcome, son of Odin,” said Dust, unable to hide her amusement. Loki groaned as he pulled himself up from his own crater, brushing the dirt off of the crisp cut black leather of his suit. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” added Dust as Burl shivered behind her legs, trying to shield himself from the trickster god. “I’m afraid you have me mistaken for someone else, hind,” said Loki, face grimaced with agitation. “Now will someone please explain why exactly I’m here?” “Your grandson has given up the chase,” Dust replied. “It seems he’s lonely.” Sköll snarled at the hind, kept at bay by the butterflies’ coos. “Grandson?” Loki asked, eyeing the wolf. “You’re sure this one’s mine?” Sköll glowered at him, said only, “I am the son of Fenrir.” “Ahhhh, so you are,” said Loki, sauntering around his kin, taking him in. He was distracted by a nibble at his ankles and looked down to see Burl standing beneath him. “Loki, I- I- I- don’t suppose you could return me to Midgaard? Ah- AhAs a human?” Loki shooed the rabbit with his foot and returned his attention to Sköll. He could read in the wolf’s demeanor that the hind was right — Sköll’s aura seemed to lack a light that only companionship can bring to a wolf. Still, he found himself lacking any desire to help. “I see …” Loki said to Dust. “But I’m afraid I quite enjoy the heat, and I’m sure the sun and moon appreciate no longer being chased through the skies for all eternity.” “Our world dies in this unending sun, Loki,” said Dust. “And?” asked Loki, a grim smile adorning his face. The butterflies whispered something to Loki then, something only a creature of his cunning could perceive, and a spark of realization came across his face. They were right. Fimbulwinter could never come in this blazing heat. The great winter that brings Ragnarök, the storm of unending snow that ends the reign of the Odin, the glorious opportunity for Loki to once and for all enact his revenge upon the gods — none of it will come to be unless Sköll returns to his chase. “So what is it you propose, hind?” Loki asked. Dust sensed Loki’s motivation, felt uneasy in having involved him. But she knew she needed him to find Sköll’s father and pry that sword from his mouth. “Fenrir,” said Dust. “Ahhh, you wish to give Sköll a sibling?” Loki intuited. At this, Sköll’s ears perked up.
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