Altogether too soon we crested a rise, and the buggy’s headlights tagged the mammoth tree in the distance. This was where the tourists would be let out to gape at Yggdrasil II and enjoy a photo op, and the schooner driver would tell them about Garm, the terrible hellhound who guards the world tree, warning them not to think of getting any closer.

I’m not sure about the Tall Man’s ghost—that’s one of those urban legends where everyone knows someone whose friend’s cousin’s brother knew a kid who saw the Tall Man and died three days later. Garm, however, is another matter.

“Hold fast,” Mikill advised me unnecessarily, gunning the engine again as he departed from the graded trails.

The dune buggy flew and jounced over the sands. Dune grass whipped at the sides of the vehicle. I narrowed my eyes as a hail of icy pellets from the frost giant’s dripping beard stung my face. Ahead of us, there was a deep-throated howl.

I poked around at my feet. “Mikill? Where’s the offering?”

“There is a loaf of bread in the rear of the vehicle!” Mikill shouted, both hands gripping the steering wheel hard. “You must reach behind you to retrieve it!”

Another howl arose, drowning out the sound of the engine.

Oh, great. Again.

Holding the fur coat in place with one hand, I rummaged awkwardly behind me with the other. Easy enough for a frost giant to do, but I could barely brush the crusty surface of the loaf of bread with my fingertips.

At fifty yards away, Yggdrasil II loomed out of the darkness like a colossus. A piece of the darkness seemed to detach from it, bounding toward the dune buggy, yellow eyes aflame.

“Daisy Johanssen!” Mikill called. “Now!”

“Yeah, yeah! Just don’t crash, okay?” Reluctantly, I released the catch on my seat belt, craning my upper body backward. The buggy bounced on its oversize tires, and the top of my head hit the roll bar. “Ouch!”

Garm howled, a long, belling peal, the sound of a hunting dog on the trail, if the hunting dog had an awesome sound system.

“Now!” Mikill repeated impatiently. “I do not wish to do battle with the hound.”

Lurching, I managed to get my hand around the loaf. “Got it!”

The frost giant slowed and downshifted as Garm bounded toward us, jaws slavering. The hellhound was approximately twice the size of the buggy. Why it attacked the very denizens of Hel’s realm of Niflheim it was meant to protect, and why it was pacified by a loaf of bread, I could not tell you. I asked the first time and was told that was simply the way it was. Happens a lot in the eldritch community.