Snøgud: Chapter 3

Wretched sediment.

Continued from Snøgud: Chapter 2

Created by author with Midjourney

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Lumi had been looking forward to this day, albeit guiltily, ever since that evening by the stream, nine summers ago. Watching Andri and Skadi laughing and splashing each other in the light of the setting sun, a little pebble of jealousy had wriggled into her heart, growing ever since. Each adoring look meant for Skadi and not for her, every walk in the forest with their hands intertwined coated its surface with another layer of wretched sediment. Now, her heart was cratered by it.

She had felt the stone pressing against her chest that morning as she watched the two of them scampering back from the eastern hill with their arms around each other, Skadi with her eyes closed against the light and Andri guiding her. So fucking adorable. Lumi puffed her cheeks in frustration. Not long now, she thought. Soon, hers would be the hand clasped in his, she the object of his affection.

Although the Pilgrimage to Snøgod was considered an honor to be celebrated, the revelry always felt forced. No one expected to see the departing Pilgrim again, although efforts were made by most to pretend otherwise. Given these nuances, it was important that she strike the right tone. She should look attractive, but not excessively so. She must be sure not to act overly celebratory, although the closer the sun drew to the horizon the giddier she felt. She hoped the martingales she had embroidered on her tunic were not gauche - the strength and perseverance of the birds known to remain in the North despite the harsh winter were proper sentiments for the Ceremony of Departure. But martingales also symbolized love.

Another wave of giddiness washed over her, making her bounce in her chair. She was so close to the moment when she would no longer have to compete with that stupid blind freak. She could barely contain her excitement, but she would need to figure out a way to do so in order to find the right balance of demure compassion and solicitous care when she comforted Andri once Skadi left. She could almost feel the warm muscle of his shoulder beneath her hand. Carefully, she draped the embroidered tunic over the back of her chair, watching the martingales’ blue thread shimmer in the light. She flopped back on the bed, energy running in riotous zigzags over her body.

Winking in the light streaming through the window, the martingales appeared to be dancing with each other. Like her and Andri soon would. The thought made her smile. She opened her mouth and dragged her thumb across her tongue, then slid the wet digit over her nipple, feeling it harden at her touch. She squeezed the soft flesh and rolled the nub. With her other hand she trailed her fingers down her torso to the fork of her legs, finding herself already slick with arousal. She imagined Andri lying next to her, reaching down to curl his fingers inside her sex. She shivered at the thought and slid two digits inside herself, feeling her rippled bands of muscle tighten.

She gave her breast another squeeze, then moved her hand lower so that she could rub her sensitive nub while she continued penetrating herself. She imagined Andri’s long brown fingers caressing her from the inside and his lips meeting hers. She could almost taste him. Soon, she repeated to herself, squirming in her bed. Her fingers pumped faster - a delirious orchestra of one. She rubbed herself and writhed into her hands, her climax building like magma beneath bedrock. She imagined Andri’s lips against her ear.

“She was just a distraction. You’re the one I want.”

His warm breath brushed her cheek. Waves of pleasure ran over her body like sunlight breaking through fast-moving clouds.

“You’re the one I want.”

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“Your flint?” Skadi’s mother asked, for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Yes, mother.”

“And the firefruit?”

“Yes.”

“Your mittens?”

“Yes, mother.”

“And the snares,” she said, her voice made tinny by the forced levity of her tone. Skadi took her hand, feeling a slight tremor. Or perhaps that was her own. She had spent all day carefully assembling the fortress around her heart but, alone with her mother, she could feel all the chinks between those stones. All the weaknesses.

“I won’t starve, mama,” she murmured.

Freya blew out a breath and shook her head as if to clear it.

“Of course you won’t. Because you’ll have your snares. And your arrows. You’ll be able to take down just about anything now, with all the practicing you’ve been doing.” She hefted the quiver of arrows again and set them on the bed next to Skadi’s pack. “And you won’t freeze to death, either,” she added, as though reciting a lesson. Her hands were in constant motion, feeling for the pocket holding the firefruit and flint, then fidgeting to the flap of the pack to check for each item again.

“It’s okay, mama,” Skadi said, capturing her mother’s hands fluttering like two small birds. “It’ll be okay.”