Those that were going about their daily routines in Kattegat stopped and watched, as their king made their way past them, with the limp body of a woman in his arms. Ragnar had not expected her to be heavy, she hadn't been when he had taken her into the hunting cabin; but surprisingly, she had proved to be as light as a feather. It having been no effort at all, to carry her back to town.

On the journey, all he had been able to think about was the dream that he had had; of the two men that had sat across from one another as they played chess. Of the words that had come from the older man 'You will take her straight to the seer. One will be waiting there, that can help.' The king wondering whom this person might be, and whether or not he would ever get the chance to see her again, once he had taken her to the disfigured man. Whether he would be able to ask her all the questions that had been plaguing his mind since the stag had guided him to the fallen mare.

Then there he was, it as if he had found his way to where the seer sat and conversed with the gods, in a matter of only an instant after stepping foot back in Kattegat. Time appearing to have a mind of its own, since he had come across the mare. Moments becoming hours, and hours becoming moments. Ragnar pushing his way inside; the space lit by the usual numerous candles.

"Put her down............." The seer ordered, as he seemed to appear from nowhere, pointing to some furs that had been placed on the floor. The oracle kneeling next to her, as the king lay her down; his hand reaching out and touching her face.

"Did you see her...........?"

"See her..........?" Ragnar asked, feeling a little confused by the question.

"Did you see her as she is meant to be.........the mare..........?"

"That is how I found her. She only became this later.............."

"Tell me of her. Tell me of the mare............?" The old man continued, as he took up her injured arm, and ghosted his gnarled fingers along the deep wound.

"Like no other I have ever seen. She was as pale as the first snow of winter, with large, feathered wings sprouting from her withers; her mane and tail softer than even the finest fur, that glinted in the light, like finely spun silver." Ragnar explained. His eyes never leaving the unconscious woman's form. The king realising that no matter the glory of the mare that he had rescued from the woods; this beauty before him could have men, kingdoms go to war for just the promise of one of her smiles.

"Leave!" The seer ordered again, as he used his staff to help him from the floor.

"You have done what was required of you. You are no longer needed." The disfigured man continued curtly, as he made his way to the door and opened it. Ragnar looking between the seer and the female. The king knowing that there was no point in arguing with the older man. The warrior reluctantly making his way out of the cabin. The door firmly slammed behind him.

                                                      >>----------------------------------<<

"He is gone............" The oracle called, as he slowly sat on a stool. A tall, broad figure, dressed in a grey hooded cloak, that had seen better days, making its way from behind a curtain. The visitor dropping to their knees, next to the prone female; the hood pulled from their head to reveal a man with a slightly greying beard and long, dark hair.

"My child.........." He said softly, as she took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently.

"What have you done to yourself..............?"

                                                        >>--------------------------------<<

Ragnar sat in Flóki's cabin. The two men staring at the ale in their cups. The king had thought to stay outside the seer's home; yet he knew that no answers would be coming from the old man. The king well aware that if there was one person in Kattegat that could help him figure out what had happened, it would be his old friend.

Flóki had sat quietly as Ragnar had told him about everything that had occurred. About the stag, and the injured, winged mare; about the men, and how the horse had become a woman, and..........about the dream. It obvious to the boatbuilder that his king had been visited by not only Loki, but also the allfather.

"Well........" Flóki chuckled, as he turned his gaze to his friend.

"I let you go out by yourself, and you come home with a horse of the Æsir. Only you could do such a thing, Ragnar." The boatbuilder chuckled again, slapping the king on the shoulder, as he got to his feet. He had of course come to that conclusion himself; that this winged mare was no mere mount of the Valkyrie, given his dream. Yet to have his friend say it out loud, seemed to make it more real, though this just seemed to bring with it more questions. Questions that frustratingly were not being answered.

"But who is she...........?" Ragnar asked, more of himself than anything. The king looking up as Flóki laughed out loud, having heard the whispered question.

"Isn't it obvious? She is a child of Sleipnir. The grandchild of Loki............."