Magnus might not have thought of this, but this place feels an awful lot like Alfheim. Not the manicured rich-Boston-suburbs Alfheim, though... maybe the part that skirts Folkvanger. Freya, he thinks, would like the iridescent emerald grass and beautiful flowers. She'd probably have her personal band compose a song about the way the sun sends little shimmery rainbows up where it hits the ground.

Which is to say his alf seidr feels closer and softer than ever. These things get misshapen when you dump boiling water in them -- he learned that the hard way. He draws summer heat into his hands, curling them around the top of the bottle, trying to warm the plastic up enough that he can pull it wider open.