For the first hundred years, Sif did not leave the heavens.

The realm of the gods was itself a vast, palatial city, mansions intertwined with forest intertwined with sea. Yet many sat empty.

Upon his arrival, Sif had been charged with overseeing the empty ones- abandoned, forgotten. Temples to gods that had either fallen from grace or died.

It made him realize, for the first time, how very small he was.

How laughable it had been, that he had at one time thought himself a fully fledged god.

Even days blended together, time interminable; and he didn't realize how much time had passed until the Lord of Storms, Son of the Sky, Lelleyn, came to him.

In the courtyard of an overgrown manor, Sif was sweeping away some fallen leaves when a young man- or at least it appeared he was young- came to the low half-fence. He was, like Sif, dressed in all black and with long black hair; but the similarities ended there, as he had feathers interwoven with his hair, and his clothes were of a different style.

" Lord Lelleyn's summoned you to the Hall," he said shortly.

Sif flicked his ear, a little annoyed.

" What for?" he asked.

" To return to the mortal realm, and aid him in answering prayers," the young man said, looking equally miffed.

Sif had never been summoned to the Hall Meden tir Nagh; it was used by the gods and their higher ranked attendants to hold meetings and visit the lower world.

What had changed?

He supposed he had to go. He wasn't very fond of Lelleyn, but he missed the imperfections of the landscape of Holm. And in a certain way, he had come to miss people.

" I'll go, then," he said. " Let me put away my broom."

<- .....->