On a sunny morning late in the spring, the Goddess Freya took it into her head to wander the world and mingle again with the lives of mortals. Traveling swiftly in her falcon form to the foot of BiFrost, the Rainbow Bridge, Freya gave her feather cloak to Heimdal for safekeeping. She then crossed over to Midgard, the world of men.

With a wave of her hand, Freya transformed herself from the gloriously beautiful blonde goddess into a merely attractive twenty-year-old maiden. She now had raven black hair that fell to her wide shoulders. Her face was still lovely, but men wouldn't instantly fall in love with her when they saw her. Her eyes were wide and green, but no longer smoldered with raw sensuality. Her breasts were perhaps slightly larger than most girls had, but not so firm and full as a Goddess might have. She was much shorter, standing only an inch or two more than five feet tall. Slender and graceful, she pirouetted on the grass, allowing modest clothing to replace her splendid nudity. A soft peasant blouse of white homespun cloth, a tightly laced bodice of green leather and a full skirt the color of oak bark made up her outfit. Soft leather shoes replaced the white fur boots she normally wore - and she was ready to journey through the world as a remarkably pretty, but normal girl.

Freya magically created a small purse with gold and silver coins – after all, she didn't want to starve and she didn't feel like hunting for food all day everyday. Finally, as was her custom on these journeys, she stripped away all but the tiniest fraction of her magical powers, forming her goddess magic into a silver pin, which she hid inside her blouse, directly above her heart.

Making her way through the forest, Freya reveled in the luxurious plant life. The smells were sharp, the flowers brilliant and the moss was soft and moist. She loved the first blooming of summer in an old forest. "What a wonderful idea this is," she thought as she strolled along a deer trail, smiling at a timid bunny. "I really should explore the world more as a woman."

At the edge of the woods stood a small cabin in an overgrown hollow. The Goddess in disguise approached the faded rustic building and tapped on the wooden door. An old woman answered her knock, opening the door right up fearlessly.

"Welcome, child," smiled the stooped crone, smoothing back an errant strand of white hair with a gnarled hand. "You must be quite lost to have found me so far from the main road. Come in, come in." The old woman wore a shapeless and much patched blouse and skirt, covered with an apron that had seen better days.

"Thank you mother, " smiled Freya in reply. "You can call me Ursula." She followed the bent, tottering old woman into the one room hut. She was immediately seated in the good chair beside the small dining table and handed a cup of cider and a bit of bread and golden honey.

The crone fussed a bit over the young woman, and then sat on the cold hearth. When Freya would have put the woman in her chair, she was shushed rather abruptly. "I may be a poor old woman and my home is a bit small, but I'll not have you sitting in the fireplace in your fine skirt, lass. You're my guest, and you're welcome to what I have."

While the crone described a wandering route to reach the nearest village, the Goddess watched the old woman pull at her fingers distractedly. "Are you in much pain, Mother?" asked the young woman gently.

"Enough, I suppose, Ursula. It's just my swollen knuckles, you see," she muttered, reaching out to grasp Freya's hand with her withered one. "Nothing to fret about, child."

"If I may spend the night here please, Mother?" asked the disguised Lady.

"Of course you must. It's a lonely life way out here on the edge of the world. You may have the bed, my child and we'll feast, so we will."

Freya excused herself and walked out into the forest, promising to return before nightfall. The Goddess roamed, searching for a pair of rare herbs. Knowing much of the healing arts, Freya found the plants, harvesting the root of one and the leaves of the other. She wrapped them in a bit of cloth and slipped them into the pocket of her skirt.

Returning, Freya borrowed a bowl and pestle. Mixing some fresh water, a dollop of honey, the shredded leaves and half the root, the Goddess mashed the mixture into a greenish paste. Taking a heel of bread, the disguised Goddess soaked up the thin paste and held it out to the old woman. The crone took the offered bread and sniffed it – not entirely pleased with its look or smell. Still, the young woman seemed kind enough so she bit into it, chewing and swallowing the bread and paste.

For dinner, the crone fixed greens and bread and the small bit of salted meat she'd been hoarding. Freya saw that the woman exhausted her stores to feed her guest, but she did so gladly so Freya said nothing. They talked of the forest and of the woman's life. Freya learned that the crone had been a seamstress and then an innkeeper's wife. The couple had retired to the forest to live out their last days when King Agnar had won the land, but her husband had taken ill and passed on several years ago. Since her hands were now crippled with the knuckle disease, the crone lived but poorly. She wouldn't move back to the village though, as she didn't care for Agnar.

The crone insisted Freya stretch out on the bed, covering the goddess in a wool blanket. The crone then took the chair for herself. The old woman fell asleep readily, soon snoring lightly. Freya smiled herself to sleep.

Rising long before dawn, the Goddess moved silently to look down at the old woman. She saw that the crone's hands were already healed – the potion having done its work. Quietly Freya laid three gold coins on the table – enough for her hostess to eat well for a year or more. Then she slipped from the hut, walking happily along the trail towards the village.

Some hours later, Freya entered the village of Greenhaven. She bought some meat and cheese and a loaf of bread at the inn and a water skin she could fill and carry. She asked after the court of King Agnar, and was pointed along the correct path with dark looks and low muttering of a king who'd seized the land unjustly. The folk were kind enough to her, but they were busy with their lives and Freya left without staying the night.

Walking for several days, the disguised Goddess traveled along the path to Ravenburgh, where the King held court. As the path became more of a road, the Goddess took many side trips into the wood, seeking out the calmer places for her meals and rest.

In one such shaded forest dell, Freya leaned against a crooked oak and pulled out the last of her meat and cheese. As she piled the fixings on what was left of her bread, she heard a small mew. A rather large black cat with friendly green eyes sat not two feet from her, gazing from the meat to her face inquisitively.

"Well hello, cat," laughed Freya. "What lovely black fur you have."

"Actually, it's smoke colored fur, which is quite rare and wonderful," preened the cat. "My fur is black with white down near my body, so I change color with the wind. I would be happy to let you stroke my soft fur if I could share some of your delicious lunch."

"Indeed, cat, and what are you called?" asked Freya, offering some of the meat and cheese to the elegant feline. "You can call me Ursula, if you'd like."

"Misty" mumbled Misty while wolfing down the offered treat. She jumped into Freya's lap and curled up, purring loudly. "I like you, Ursula!" purred the cat happily, allowing the Goddess to pet her. The two lunched together happily, Freya eating with one hand and stroking Misty with the other.

A mouse scampered through the grass. The cat sprang up, leaping forward savagely. "Goodbye Ursula," called Misty as she zoomed after the mouse. "I'll find you again."

"Good luck, Misty," laughed the Goddess, rising to continue her journey. "Have fun, little warrior."

Another half day of walking took her to Ravenburgh. The people here kept their eyes downcast and there wasn't a smile to be found for a stranger. They barely spoke to her, just jerked their heads when she asked directions to the king. The clothes on the children were ragged and filthy, and their parents weren't dressed better. The inns were silent. The people were thin. Ravenburgh looked like a town under siege, not the home of the local king.

King Agnar's keep was the largest house in the center of town. At the door were two surly fellows, fat and unkempt. Each wore a sword. "Here now, wench," bawled one when Freya approached. "You're a nice bit of girl, ain'tcha? Big knockers you got too."

"I'd like to see the King," Freya scowled, drawing herself up disapprovingly. "Please announce me as Ursula."

"Thor's thighs," swore the other guard sarcastically. "Now you've gone and offended a 'lady'. Both guards laughed and the one that spoke stepped forward and pinched Freya's bottom. Swiftly, the Lady drew the guard's sword, using the flat of it to swat him away, knocking him from his feet. She caught the other under the chin with the point of the sword, scratching a line of blood.

"Announce me!" she commanded through gritted teeth.

The guard fell back, turned and fled into the house. Some minutes later, the door opened and the pale fellow motioned her in. She threw the sword back to the guard wisely still lying on the ground, and followed the portly guard onto the manor house.

The walls of the entrance hall were lined with a mismatch of paintings. Freya realized these were spoils taken by these ruffians. The reception room at the end of the hall held four more guards in rough clothes and a large brute of a man. Ignoring the guards, Freya strode forward and examined King Agnar. He was dressed in fine clothes, but he was clearly a common fellow, well muscled but sliding into fat. His hair was dirty; his clothes held stains from several meals and his breath stank of wine. The bulky blond man sat carelessly in a grand chair, his long sword in a scabbard hanging over the back of his throne.

"Who are you to attack my guards, girl?" he blustered.

"Someone who's used to better treatment in the halls of kings" she replied coldly.

Agnar drew back, gazing appraisingly at the lovely girl standing fearlessly before him. Her proud bearing troubled him all the while he lusted after her nubile flesh. "A chair for…" he hesitated.

"Ursula."

"A chair for Ursula. And fetch her some of the good wine. From the black flask." Two guards jumped to obey. A comfortable chair was placed behind her. Freya nodded to the king and took her seat. A crystal goblet was brought to each of the king and Freya. The wine was deep crimson and seemed almost to sparkle in the glass.

"To your beauty, Ursula," Agnar saluted, raising his glass. Freya inclined her head, allowing the king a small smile. She sipped.

The world slowed and dimmed for the Goddess. The floor tipped and teetered, then stayed at an angle. Her head was hot and her heart pounded in her chest. Far away, she heard a crystal goblet break. The red of spilled wine looked like blood. The scene turned black as she heard the bark of laughter from the king and his men.

Some unknown time later, Freya awoke drearily. Her head pounded and her stomach threatened to spew itself at any moment. Hazily, the Goddess realized she was stretched out on a bed, her arms and legs outspread. Naked. Moving to cover herself, her arms and legs wouldn't obey. She realized hesitantly that her wrists and ankles were bound to the bedposts. Through her fog she couldn't understand exactly what had happened to her.

"You're to be the King's latest 'bride'," chuckled a wizen old man moving forward to stand at the side of the large bed. "You're prettier than most, I suppose. Pity Agnar's so rough with girls. I'd keep you for myself if I could." The old man stroked Freya's taut stomach, letting his fingers caress her soft flesh. "Still, at least I got to undress you, Ursula," cackled the ancient lecher patting her left breast before shuffling from the room.

Freya sobbed, unable to think clearly. She looked around hesitantly. The room wasn't overly large, just the bed, a couple of cabinets and three chairs. Her clothes were strewn over the back of one of the chairs. The darkening sky was visible through a open window. Freya struggled with the ropes. She should be able to break free, but she just couldn't focus her thoughts.

A dark shape appeared in the window. The trembling girl screamed as the form leapt through the air, pouncing on her bare stomach. Below her, she heard male laughter in answer to her wordless cry for help. The beast stood on her; it's four paws digging into her naked flesh. It leaned forward until its nose was almost pressed to hers.

"What's the matter, Ursula? Forgotten all about me?" purred Misty. She licked the frightened girl's face, trying to calm her.

"M…Misty?"

"Told you I'd find you. What're you doing?"

"I can't… My mind… He did something to me… can't think clearly…" she stammered. "Please Misty, can you help me?"

"I'm just a little cat. I don't think I can chew through those thick ropes, Ursula."

"In my shirt… the pin… can you get…?"

Misty leapt down and padded over to the chair. The blouse was under the skirt. With much tugging and a bit of falling down, the smoke colored cat managed to squirm her way under the skirt and work herself into the blouse.

The door slammed open and King Agnar paraded in. Large, stripped to the waist and drunk, the King swayed, as he looked down at the nude, bound girl quivering with fear on the bed. He belched and scratched himself, his mocking smile growing larger as Freya shuddered in disgust. "Pretty little Ursula. I was gonna share you with my men, but I might keep you for myself." He laughed coldly as he fondled her chest with his huge, dirty hands.

"Argh!" he roared as sharp claws dug into his calf. Reaching around behind him, Agnar tried to swat the cat, who dove under the bed. "Damned animal," he snarled, dropping to his knees and sweeping his arm after Misty.

Misty swarmed out the other side, jumping up onto the bed. She dropped the silver pin onto Freya's chest, letting it fall over her heart. The pin flashed blindingly bright and Misty tumbled back, landing on the floor. Agnar leapt up as the room filled with golden light.

Freya regained her wits when the pin touched her flesh. The ropes binding her snapped like thread. The pin sank deep into her bosom, filling her with her full Goddess might. Blonde again and impossibly beautiful, Freya rose up from the bed as a Goddess enraged. She grabbed the pretender king by the throat and shook him as a tiger would shake her prey. Casually, she snapped his neck, dropping his broken body like wet garbage.

Freya strode from the room and down the stairs like an avenging angel. She swept up Agnar's sword in a fluid motion and began reaping lives. In moments, she slaughtered his band of cutthroat guards, dealing out a measure of justice for the other women who had met their fate as Agnar's bride.

When she finished her slaughter, her anger cooled. The goddess looked around and saw Misty sitting on the third step from the top of the stairs. "Is it safe to come down, Ursula?" mewed Misty tentatively.

"Yes Misty," laughed the Goddess, "You have nothing to fear from me."

The cat bounded down the stairs, fastidiously avoiding the blood pooling on the floor. "I gather you're not really Ursula, a wandering girl who sometimes feeds friendly cats?" Misty inquired brightly, rubbing against the Goddess's leg.

"I'm actually Freya, Lady of the Vanir," she told the cat, picking Misty up. Misty curled against the Goddess's breasts, purring happily. "You did me a great service upstairs, little warrior. What reward would you have?"

"I don't suppose I could stay with you? Do you have any tuna? I could catch mice and…" began Misty excitedly.

Freya laughed and hugged the purring cat. "As you wish, little one. I'll set aside a corner of Folkvang just for you and other pure hearted cats. When you die, my Valkerie will come for you and other good cats like yourself and carry you off to the afterlife. You'll be able to hunt and play and roam forever in my fields, and sleep at night in my hall. How does that sound?"

"Will there be tuna?"

"Yes! You'll have tuna and mice and roast beef and chicken whenever you want. But first, I have a friend who needs a companion in this world." Freya smiled, thinking of the old woman living alone in her hut at the edge of the world.

Misty cuddled against Freya's chest, purring contentedly. And that's how it happened that the Valkyries choose good and noble cats to live a glorious afterlife forever with the Goddess Freya in Folkvang.