He Fell From the Sky
I
He woke tangled up in the buttress roots of a tree as the salty waves lapped over his eyelashes. The sky above was blurry and at dusk as he stared up from where his head rested upon the water’s bottom; there was something foreboding about the pink rays of light that leaked through the clouds above. With a gurgle Loki pushed himself up to break the water’s surface in search of sweet air and as he coughed eagerly he found he could stand on his knees, waist high in the clear water. Where was this place?
A flicker of panic came to light in his chest as he rubbed his eyes: this wasn’t Asgard, it couldn’t be Asgard. He’d memorized every map in his scriptures, he’d traveled every succulent trail of woodland for herbal ingredients to tonics. This place of fertility was no place of Asgard yet round him pretty little flowers bloomed on the shore and the wind blew sweetly to send shivers down his spine.
What a tease.
Slowly he rose to stand flat foot on the water’s crest as he took in everything around him. Life was plentiful out here, wherever it was that he’d fallen, but there was little sign of advanced life. Of intelligent life. Loki was, for all intents and purposes, alone out in the wilderness of somewhere. He made his way off of the shoreline and to the sweet, summer grasses with a disgruntled huff.
It was as he made his way forward into the rocky moorland that he realized his clothing was thin and pale in comparison to the fine leathers of Asgardian origin. Instead he was dressed in drab, dull browns and greens that clung to his silhouette still drenched from the water’s edge. A rage was coming to rise in his chest as he tore at the fabric of his shirt to force it off over his shoulders caring little as the seams popped open across it. This was bullshit.
From under the brush rabbits started to run in a silent fear of his growing presence. Every second that passed Loki felt himself solidify more and more into this unknown place of existence and for every second more new flickers of rage filled his fingertips with a steady feed of growing seiðr energy that radiated from somewhere deep in his chest. Birds began to take flight around him next, cawing in a gossipy tone between fear and anger as they swirled up off of their tree top perches. Brown birds, red birds, falcons, owls, black birds—ravens.
Clenching his jaw, Loki focused on keeping his composure until he finally stumbled into the thin tree line of the area. Here he finally collapsed, his ankles buckling below him, onto the damp ground that graced the forest. His head spun with the intake of it all with the sun finally setting on the strange realm he’d been thrown into: this was banishment.
A flicker of panic came to light in his chest as he rubbed his eyes: this wasn’t Asgard, it couldn’t be Asgard. He’d memorized every map in his scriptures, he’d traveled every succulent trail of woodland for herbal ingredients to tonics. This place of fertility was no place of Asgard yet round him pretty little flowers bloomed on the shore and the wind blew sweetly to send shivers down his spine.
What a tease.
Slowly he rose to stand flat foot on the water’s crest as he took in everything around him. Life was plentiful out here, wherever it was that he’d fallen, but there was little sign of advanced life. Of intelligent life. Loki was, for all intents and purposes, alone out in the wilderness of somewhere. He made his way off of the shoreline and to the sweet, summer grasses with a disgruntled huff.
It was as he made his way forward into the rocky moorland that he realized his clothing was thin and pale in comparison to the fine leathers of Asgardian origin. Instead he was dressed in drab, dull browns and greens that clung to his silhouette still drenched from the water’s edge. A rage was coming to rise in his chest as he tore at the fabric of his shirt to force it off over his shoulders caring little as the seams popped open across it. This was bullshit.
From under the brush rabbits started to run in a silent fear of his growing presence. Every second that passed Loki felt himself solidify more and more into this unknown place of existence and for every second more new flickers of rage filled his fingertips with a steady feed of growing seiðr energy that radiated from somewhere deep in his chest. Birds began to take flight around him next, cawing in a gossipy tone between fear and anger as they swirled up off of their tree top perches. Brown birds, red birds, falcons, owls, black birds—ravens.
Clenching his jaw, Loki focused on keeping his composure until he finally stumbled into the thin tree line of the area. Here he finally collapsed, his ankles buckling below him, onto the damp ground that graced the forest. His head spun with the intake of it all with the sun finally setting on the strange realm he’d been thrown into: this was banishment.