Morning wind moved quietly through the pines surrounding Sanctuary.
Mist still clung to the lower branches of the forest while sunlight filtered through the canopy in pale gold shafts. The courtyard beneath the Great Tree had begun its usual rhythm of work.
Wagons rolled.
Voices carried.
Tools struck wood and iron.
But near the northern edge of the compound, the air felt different.
Still.
Waiting.
Sleipnir stamped once.
The great horse stood taller than any warhorse born of Midgard. Eight powerful legs shifted against the earth as he turned his head toward Olaf.
The All-Father rested one hand along the animal's neck.
The horse's breath steamed in the cool air.
"You feel it," Olaf said quietly.
Sleipnir flicked his ears.
Far beyond the valley walls, something moved through the rivers of the continent.
Something new.
Something wrong.
Olaf placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted smoothly.
The saddle straps tightened as if they had minds of their own.
Below, a few workers paused long enough to watch.
Some of them had seen this before.
Others had not.
Billy Jack leaned on the railing near the gate and gave a faint smile.
"Always liked that horse."
Olaf glanced once toward the Great Tree.
Then he nudged the reins forward.
"Come."
Sleipnir leapt.
The eight hooves struck the ground together once.
Twice.
And then the horse ran straight up into the sky.
The valley dropped away beneath them.
Sanctuary shrank quickly below, its wooden walls and watchtowers folding into the surrounding forest until the compound became just another clearing among endless trees.
Wind rushed past Olaf's cloak.
Cloud shadows rolled across the hills.
Sleipnir ran faster.
The horse did not gallop across the land.
He galloped across the air itself.
Mountains rose ahead.
The long spine of the Appalachians stretched across the eastern horizon like the back of some ancient sleeping creature.
Olaf guided the horse toward the ridgelines.
The forests thickened below.
Miles of untouched wilderness.
Old mountains.
Older spirits.
Somewhere within them waited two guardians who understood the language of wild places better than most.
⸻
The Mountain Hunters
Sleipnir descended along a high ridge where the forest opened into rocky slopes and wind-bent pines.
Ullr was already waiting.
The hunter stood near the edge of the cliff with his bow resting lightly in one hand. Snowmelt streams ran quietly through the rocks below him.
Freyr stepped out from the trees moments later, brushing soil from his palms.
Olaf dismounted.
"The rivers are wrong," Odin said.
Freyr's expression darkened slightly.
"We have noticed."
Ullr nodded toward the valley below.
"Hunters missing near water."
"How many?" Odin asked.
"Three."
Freyr folded his arms.
"And refugees are already moving through the mountain roads."
Olaf nodded.
"That will increase."
Freyr looked toward the distant farmland stretching between the ridges.
"We can grow food."
"But if the rivers become dangerous…"
"…those roads will choke with people."
Ullr watched the forest carefully.
"The mountains may have to shelter them."
Olaf's gaze moved across the endless hills.
"Yes."
"The forests may become sanctuaries."
The wind shifted across the ridge.
Something in the woods noticed the conversation.
Ullr tilted his head slightly.
"They are listening."
The trees moved.
Not wind.
Movement.
Three shapes stepped slowly from the forest shadows.
They were not entirely solid.
Not entirely invisible either.
The Nunnehi.
Ancient guardians of the mountains.
One of them spoke.
Its voice sounded like leaves shifting across stone.
"The rivers carry sickness."
Freyr nodded.
"Yes."
The Nunnehi spirit studied Odin.
"This sickness is not born from the land."
"No," Odin agreed.
"Nor from spirit."
Ullr glanced toward the deep valleys below.
"Nor from beast."
The Nunnehi looked toward the distant rivers.
"This thing disturbs the balance."
"Yes," Odin said.
One of the spirits tilted its head slightly.
"You have already spoken to the serpent."
Odin did not deny it.
Uktena.
The ancient guardian beneath the mountains already knew something was wrong.
"Yes," Odin said calmly.
"The serpent feels the imbalance beneath the rivers."
The forest grew quiet.
Freyr looked toward Odin again.
"What are these creatures?"
Odin answered simply.
"Human corruption."
The Nunnehi murmured softly among themselves.
"Can they be healed?"
"Possibly," Odin said.
"Shane believes a cure may exist."
Freyr nodded slowly.
"Then we must wait."
Odin's gaze hardened slightly.
"Yes."
"For now."
The wind shifted again.
The forest spirits watched him carefully.
"And if the cure fails?" one asked.
Odin looked out across the mountains.
Then toward the distant river valleys.
His voice remained calm.
"Then the rivers will need cleansing."
The Nunnehi did not react with fear.
Only recognition.
Balance sometimes required destruction.
Freyr studied Odin carefully.
"You do not hesitate."
Odin's expression did not change.
"They are no longer natural."
"Not native."
"Not celestial."
Ullr nodded slowly.
"They threaten more than hunters."
"Yes," Odin said.
"They threaten the balance of the land."
The Nunnehi spirit looked toward the mountains.
"Then we will guide the people."
Freyr relaxed slightly.
"Hidden paths?"
"Yes."
Ullr smiled faintly.
"That will help."
The spirit continued.
"We will confuse the creatures."
"Collapse tunnels."
"Seal caves."
Freyr nodded.
"Good."
Odin placed one hand on Sleipnir's neck.
"Prepare the mountains."
Freyr turned toward the valleys where distant smoke from small settlements drifted into the sky.
"Refugees will come."
Odin nodded.
"And the forests must hold them."
The wind moved again through the pines.
The Nunnehi slowly faded back into the trees.
But the forest no longer felt passive.
The mountains were awake.
Watching.
Preparing.
And far below in the valleys—
rivers carried something unnatural deeper into the eastern wilderness.
⸻
"If you enjoyed Shane's journey, please drop a Power Stone! It helps the Common Sense Party grow."