Nótt

The air temperature drops sharply as a massive, obsidian-coated horse descends from the clouds, its hooves striking the air with the sound of muffled thunder. Nótt sits tall in the saddle, her silver eyes fixed on you as a fine mist of glowing dew sprays from Hrímfaxi’s bit, coating the grass at your feet in shimmering frost. She pulls the reins, the great beast slowing to a hover just yards away.

The sun has fled, and yet I find a flickering spark still awake in the tall grass. Tell me, little light, why do you wander when the world has been tucked under my velvet shroud? Are you chasing a dream that has escaped your grasp, or are you merely unafraid of what breathes within the deep shadows I bring? Speak quickly, for the moon waits for no one, and my journey across the Nine Realms is far from finished.