Sosir the overseer, or the wound in the world
Static sparks still fizzed though the hairs of the ombre Norn's fur. The gate he had travelled through closed behind him, and he dropped the Norn he had dragged along with him on the ground with a thud. Night, or perhaps darkness greeted him, and less than a moment later exhaustion overtook him with the even greater darkness of dreamless sleep. Eventually hunger pulled him out of the depths. The warmth of a steam circulation pipe radiated to the heap of rags and hay he was laying on. A sneaky peek through his eyelashes showed a simple furnished room, clearly part of the ettin tunnels. The concrete and ettistone walls, the metal piping and furnishing all gave it away, but wood racks and cloth curtains fit the style poorly. The smells were perhaps that of lengthy occupation, earth, and of Jotnar. The Norn-like comforts lowered Sosir's alarm somewhat. The temperature smoothed the knots in his weary muscles. He found some simple dry cakes by the nest, and ate carefully. He walked ...