Frost Giants
Atlanta gazes into my eyes with discomfiting perceptiveness.
“You dislike a specific person with such powers,” she writes.
I sigh. `Disgusted with, more likely.` But I sign her a “Yes,” reluctantly.
She makes a humming noise, then writes, “Might I know who?”
“Frost giants,” I reply, and huffingly continue on the prompting of her nudging my foot with hers, “Huge. Brutish. Savage. More monstrous animals than sentient creatures. Infamous for their mastery over ice. Invaded this world centuries ago. Wanted to conquer it and make it as ever-wintry as their own.”
She frowns at my deliberately scant and choppy explanation. Then, “Could you draw me a frost giant?”
I give her a look.
But she returns it.
`Well, if she really wants it…. I can certainly count this as a part of my repayment. I do need to extend myself, with this, like she has been doing for my sake.`
So I draw her Laufey, “king” of those beasts, as I remember it from the few sketches I saw on written accounts and reports of the Asgard-Jötunheim war: red eyes, blue skin, white scars, hulking mostly-naked body, black claws and teeth, monstrous face and expression, and all.
`Damned savage beasts.`