By the crumbs in Volstagg’s beard, that was close! We escaped only because that hairy, multi-legged beast didn’t like it when I took off my helmet and thrust it in its fangy mouth before it could bite my Sigyn. Simple chemistry, really. The helm is metal and, apparently, the creature’s venom is some sort of acid, because there was a nasty, fizzing, electrical sound and it recoiled in shock and disgust. I was then able to drive it fully away by pelting it with pebbles and urging it along with a few well-placed jabs of my staff to its bulbous behind.
If I ever get my magic back, I can take the scorch marks out of the helm.
It took quite a long time to comfort my darling. She was quite understandably a bit hysterical. First her hair becomes full of cat spit, then an armored terror nearly bites her in half, then the grandmother (father?) of all leggedy things tries to make a meal of her.
You know, she’s a sweet, pretty thing, and I love her dearly, but she does take a rather a lot of rescuing.
I think we will just climb up into this weird, poky tree to spend the night– and hope we are out of reach of whatever other marauding terrors are roaming this wasteland.
Sleep, my flower. Loki will keep watch.