One of the most frustrating things about Reynir, from Lalli's perspective, anyway, is the alien nature of his language. In the dream-world, he is not exactly a cohesive, calm speaker, but he isn't the gibbering idiot he comes across as when he speaks and Lalli cannot understand a single word he's saying. The fact that neither Emil nor Lalli have the faintest idea what he's talking about has done little to deter him from talking their ears off.
Lalli watches his mouth move, almost mesmerised by the constant, flapping movement. He has never known anyone to talk so incessantly before. What could he be saying? There are plenty of gestures to go with the torrent of words, but none of them will fit what Lalli guesses he might be talking about.
For example, why would he be skipping if he were talking about Lalli's flight to his dream-space last night? Lalli just doesn't get this kid. Who in their right mind could stay so cheerful after accidentally stowing away to the wrong place and ending up waist-deep in trolls and gore, when all they have ever known is the safety of the uninfected Iceland?
He's obviously insane.
But on the bright side, he's perfectly happy to follow Lalli, even though he has no idea where they are going or what they are doing. Emil's going to turn into a bit of a problem if Lalli doesn't find some way to shut him up soon; he has offered no complaints so far, but Lalli can tell from the look in his eyes that they're going to have some problems. He probably wishes he were with Sigrun. Those two are best friends now, or something.
For now, he has no choice nor real agenda other than to just plough forwards into the woods and see if something leaps out at him. The woods he is aiming for are off to their left. Thankfully, in the opposite direction from the city, where they had such a hell of a time getting out in one piece- Emil's favourite, especially, who by all rights should have lost an arm, or at least a few fingers to the freezing water which nearly drowned her.
Lalli is barely aware of the cold as he walks. His mind is somewhere else entirely. Specifically, in front of the hearth of the house where they lived in Saimaa. Pressed in between Tuuri's fleshy side and Onni's hard shoulder, at their grandmother's feet while she tells them the most horrifying stories. Of violent gods in foreign countries, whose power waned in the old world that became the Silent World, but who are making a come-back now that those gods of the Silent World are gone and their places of worship are crumbling the dust and the blood of the people who once worshipped them.
He knows who that woman was.
He knows that she won't go away until she has taken at least one soul. Lalli has already decided it cannot be his, Tuuri's or Emil's. The others are invaluable, of course, but at the same time, they are not. If one of them truly has to go, Lalli knows it will not be his cousin or the Swede.
Her name is Hel, and she's here to take a soul to her realm of the dishonoured dead.
