Sigyn knew how to read the signs. Better than most, she could tell when snow was coming. She'd been fostered by Holda, who made it snow when she shook out her feather bed. Sigyn had seen a good snow storm start with just the flick of an apparently ancient wrist, and she recognized the bite in the air for what it was. This was going to be a good one.
She should have started back to Asgard earlier, and she knew that. But she'd hoped to finish gathering up the supplies that she needed first, because Frigg always asked why she had to go and what she was doing and Sigyn really didn't like lying to the goddess that had sort of taken her under her wing. But anytime she explained what she wanted the supplies for, Frigg looked like she wanted to make a face. She didn't, because she was polite, but Sigyn knew what Odin's wife thought of her artistic endeavors. They weren't the sort of things young ladies should do, and then Frigg would try to explain to her why her last spinning project went so horribly wrong. So she tried to keep her visits to Midgard few to avoid having to explain herself and go through all of that.
Fortunately, Sigyn had found a rather cozy cave before the storm had a chance to really get rolling. She deposited the things she'd gathered there and the equipment used to retrieve them, then set back out into the falling snow to gather other things that were now more necessary. Something told her this wasn't going to be a quick blow, so she wanted to get a fair chunk of firewood gathered for warmth, maybe some pine boughs to make a softer place to rest, and some thick brush to cover the entrance of the cave and keep the wind out and the warmth in. This wasn't her first snow storm.
It took several trips, which warmed her up despite the increasing intensity of the weather. Sigyn didn't make the mistake of taking off her cloak, though. She knew better, especially since she wasn't quite done. She'd found the pine boughs and the brush easily enough, they were close to the cave. The firewood had taken a bit more effort, she had to range further afield to find good dry branches, then use her belt to bundle and drag them back to the cave. But she wanted just a bit more. The stinging snow was starting to get difficult to deal with, lessening visibility and making it very unpleasant to be out in the wind. It wouldn't be much longer before it would be impossible to look for more firewood, so one more load and then she'd settle in.
Sigyn was struggling through the increasing wind, her last load of firewood resting against her back, held with her leather belt strapped around the bundle with the end slung over her shoulder, when she heard something. She paused, and looked through the thick snowfall for what it might have been. At first she didn't see him, but then there he was, to her left, waving. Sigyn frowned. Nobody should be out in this, they should be home in front of a fire. Not out in the middle of a storm with no hat or gloves and their cloak hanging open. Obviously this was one of those “touched” individuals from a village somewhere nearby. Sigyn would have to look after him until she could return him to his caretakers.
With a little sigh, she turned her steps toward him. She'd take him back to the cave with her. There was no way she could leave somebody who was slow to their own devices in weather like this. But as she drew nearer, and his features became clearer, Sigyn decided maybe she could leave him out in a snowbank after all. Even if he was still “touched in the head.”
“The Norns have a horrible sense of humor,” she muttered to herself. Louder she said, “What are you doing out here? Are you lost? You're lost, aren't you? Some woman drew you a map to find her bedroom and you couldn't read it and now you're stuck in a snowstorm.” Sigyn clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I'd help you out, but I have to keep moving. I'd rather not become an icicle just to help you with your latest conquest.”