Hrimfaxi shakes and cold stars fill the sky-- His breath falls and frosts the fields. Like the currents of tide or wind, his movement is his purpose and your life is simply a road for his hooves, a place where he will go and has been. Nótt whispers and he slows; she raises her hand and time stutters, every star goes still. The firmament is the field through which he goes, and his hoofbeats are the…