Unexpected Visitors
Somebody comes to the table that I share with Emilia just as I siphon some of her drink into mine.
They are definitely not a waiter in this clean-and-crisp little tavern, as they take her drink from her hand, instead of delivering another one to her.
And they take mine, too, before I can drink the improved milk.
“Hey!” Emilia and I chorus.
The unexpected, uninvited and unwelcome visitor seats themself on one of the two remaining padded stools at the table and, before our eyes, the contents of both glasses vanish.
“You are in the presence of a resourceful child, miss. You ought to be more careful,” they tell the outraged and slightly tipsy Emilia before any of us can do or say anything. And then they look into my own eyes… and blink, suddenly dumbfounded.
Not to say that I am faring better, myself. And for good reason.
`Nalla! Nalla! They are Nalla! Those eyes – that face – but where did I hear that voice?`
“Child,” their voice is far lower and far hoarser, now, “what is your name? And when were you born?”
I swallow, hard, five times. Then, at last. “Loki… Odinson. I… one-thousand-two-hundred-and-ninety-four years, by tomorrow.”