A man in the red and grey uniform of the Posten Norge was at the door. “I’ve got a letter here for Hjaldir, Sword-Brother of Skaerdjin, 6th mead-hall on the right, Plane of Ngalgir,” he said. “They paid extra for confirmed delivery. Is this the right address?”

“This is the mead-hall of Rovsdottir, Shield-Sister of Skraedyn,” said the Svart√°lfar thrall-maiden who had answered the knock. “Try two halls down; look for the one with stags of gold carved into the roof timbers.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. We get Hjaldir’s mail all the time. Is it from his mortal lover, Nana Pulaar of Burkina Faso?”

It was technically against the rules, but the man examined the letter anyway since he’d been asked so politely. “It looks more like a bill, but honestly I think it’s just snail mail spam. Thanks again.”

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