“And what will you call yourself, then, if you stay?” She considered this for a moment or two before she said, “Angrboda.” He wrinkled his nose, and the blade of grass drooped. “What? ‘Proclaimer of sorrows’? That’s an odd name. Why would I want to be your friend if that’s all you’re going to do?” “You’re the one who decided we were friends,” she said. “And besides, it’s not you to whom I’ll bring sorrow.”
