Sinric half leans, half perches on the sink, trying not to look in the mirror as he cleans his face in slow, careful wipes. "I met a group of Vǫlva. The offered to teach me the ways of the Seiðr."

He shakes his head. "No, they knew I would come. And they knew they would teach me. One of them, she can feel the threads. Not well, but enough to know I would come. And that I would be stronger than they."

His hands shake as he wipes away the blue-black tree painted into his skin.