Runa frowned at the distaffs laying neatly in a row on the shelf of the loft. The description the Matrons had left them had only narrowed it down to two, and she seemed as reluctant to risk picking one up to examine it as Einarr was.
“The Örlögnir untangles fate,” she mused. “Probably our clue is in the pattern of the inlay.”
Einarr peered more closely at the two they were considering. “But… they look the same to me?”
On each, there was a pattern of cross-hatching that seemed vaguely familiar to him, as well as a small round symbol that was difficult to discern in the smoky light up here. It could have been either the Vegvisir or the Helm of Awe, he just couldn’t see without picking it up.
Runa solved this issue neatly by kneeling on the floor to examine the two hazel and ivory distaffs. Feeling…
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