“Dear Idun,” Freya said, her face looking older by the envy pulling down at the corner of her lips. “You look as fresh as a midsummer apple. How wonderful!”

Idun, never one to believe words that didn’t fit someone’s expression, offered Freya a shy smile. “You’re kind. And I wish I had time to stay and talk but chores wait for me at home,” she said, pointing at a small hut far, far ahead.

Freya, her growing envy holding her voice hostage, didn’t answer, but waved her goodbye.

Relieved, Idun offered Freya a quick curtsy, turned around, and speeded her march.

But Freya’s envy had long roots, which soon reached her legs, taking over them. She had come to walk in the woods, why not then, walk to Idun’s little hut?...

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