All I have met, Jörmungandr said. He had some knowledge on this score - more than his human host could or would have shared - and was glad to be of some small assistance. The circumstances of their awakening clearly bothered his father, that was clear. Whatever his father's concerns, Jörmungandr himself did not share them; they were now where they were meant to be, as ever. He hoped that by his calm, by his clear and ready acceptance of their fate, he might ease Loki's apparent fears. If he was unable, perhaps Fate herself might better serve. He made a mental note to ask her when again they were together.
Not all are Norse, he added. It seemed relevant, though by no meant necessarily a deterrent to his father's boundless curiosity. I met a Slav earlier this morning, in fact. A fearsome, lovely corpse, with brutal strength. His coils shifted, piling in upon themselves, making a living seat upon which he rested his monstrous head. There are many Greeks as well, some noisier than others. Some happier than others to be in human skin.
He thought, then, on the skin he himself wore, on the soul he felt residing alongside his - subsumed, for the moment, but not for long. Adam is mine, he said. His head canted sidelong, green eyes glittering in the light. I have been with him since he was born. He has ever been close to the flesh of Thor and Urðr; perhaps that is what drew me to his soul. I do not know what continues to bind us, though similar temperaments may be to blame. He is a good boy, and patient. Qualities I appreciate.