A Lokean Devotional Vignette

Wildfire encircles the valley where I live.

He’s coming.

On the wind, a Fae-shared warning.

The air dries, lawns die, a subtle haze encroaches on the sun.

My lungs kindle. Rust turns to dust beneath the smoke-yellowed sky.

Your husband, he’s coming.

Their voices dance and play. The hair on my skin rouses, electric.

I feel him pressing nearer.

Sparks fly, wood creaks and cracks. Flame spits and laughs.

“I have a plan.”

Loki whispers softly against the top of my head.

The sunset turns as red as his hair.