We crossed Bif-rost into Inland, the centre part of the Middle Worlds, and, using the rune Raedo for speed, made our way through the Ridings, keeping to the less-travelled roads, until we reached the Northlands. It was an area Odin liked for some reason; I personally found it too cold, but Wildfire is my nature. In any case, we found ourselves travelling through mountains; huge, looming, dark mountains with slices of narrow valley between and winds that cut like razors. Beyond lay the realm of the Ice People; another area of incomprehensible fascination for the General. Perhaps he had a mistress there – the Old Man had a roving eye – or maybe it was just his way of keeping track of his enemies.

We travelled for days; Odin morose; Honir talking constantly – about the scenery, the sheep in the fields, the funny dream he’d had last night, speculating on whether we were there yet, how many leagues we must have travelled, or how long it was to lunchtime . . .

Odin had his horse with him, but Sleipnir too was in humbler Aspect, and the steed with a foot in eight of Nine Worlds was now just an ordinary roan, vaguely red in colour, with only the standard number of legs. It meant we had to take turns to ride, which I for one thought rather a waste, but Odin would have it no other way, and so I endured the discomfort and hoped he appreciated my sacrifice.

Our supplies had long since run out, and all of us were hungry. There was clearly to be no nipping back to Asgard for lunch, riding Sleipnir in full Aspect. So, finding a herd of wild oxen grazing in one of those narrow valleys, we killed one, butchered it, lit a fire and started to roast the animal in pieces among the hot coals.

Odin sat down on his bedroll and lit his pipe (another habit of the Folk he’d picked up on his travels).

‘See how simple all this is? Just the three of us and the fire, with the open sky overhead.’

I looked up. I didn’t see that the sky looked any different from the sky we could see in Asgard, but when Odin was in poetic mood, there was no reasoning with him.

‘Is the meat cooked?’ Honir said.

Odin shook his head. ‘Just wait. Listen to the sound of the wind. Don’t you think it calls to you?’

I could have told him that the only thing that was calling to me was that haunch of beef over the fire, but then I thought better of it.