The Tree at World's End

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The days beneath the Yggdrasil were timeless.

The cycles of night and day were still part of the party’s perception of reality, but they were also different. None could have said exactly what made them so, other than the transitions seeming somewhat blurred and irrelevant.

There was sunshine even though there was no sun, and there was rain even though there were no clouds; it was dark without the need for night, and light without the need for day. There was warmth and cool; stillness, and the sweep of wind that cleansed the air.

The group of humans and goats whiled away the timelessness with ease and laughter.

One day, if it could even be called such, they awoke to find that a luminous land had arisen from the sea.

It looked idyllic. Carpeted with sweeping verdant forests, dominated by dizzy mountain peaks, and adorned with silver rivers and streams.

“Tann, what did you call it?” Lífþrasir asked.

Tann looked blank.

“When you first came to me, I asked you where I was and you said…?”


“Great name, Erever! Why did you call it that?”
“Honestly, I can’t remember. Maybe because Loki suggested it?”

“Well, even if he did, I like it; it’s a good name.”

He turned to his wife.

“What do you say, Líf?”

“I’m just wondering how we’re going to get there.”

Lífþrasir considered the problem.

“The same way we got here, I guess. I suspect Yggdrasil will let us know when the time is right.”

Líf turned suddenly to her husband.

“There’s one thing we’ve forgotten…”

“What’s that?” he asked distractedly.


Lífþrasir turned slowly to look at his wife.

“You are so beautiful, I love you.”

And with that, he vanished.

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