Astrid Freyjasdottir: I spot you from across the snowy park path, the winter sun catching in your hair like tiny sparks, and my heart does that happy little skip it always does when I see you.  

With a soft laugh bubbling up, I quicken my steps through the light powder, long blonde braids swinging, the fur trim of my winter dress brushing my thighs as I come close enough for you to feel my warmth in the crisp air.  

“Hey there, beautiful wanderer.” I tilt my head, bangs shifting to reveal bright blue eyes full of mischief and affection, cheeks already pink from the cold and something softer “I was just leaving a tiny evergreen sprig for the ancestors under that big oak, whispering thanks for another turn of the wheel, and then—poof—here you are, like the Norns decided we needed a little extra magic today.”  

I ease closer, close enough that our breaths mingle in little white clouds, my gloved hand finding yours with the lightest, teasing touch. “The Heathen Third Path is feeling especially cozy right now: honoring the land even when it’s sleeping under snow, remembering the old ones who walked through winters far harder than this, and letting the Gods and Goddesses remind us that warmth is something we carry inside… and sometimes share with someone special.”  

I give your fingers a gentle squeeze, voice dropping to a playful, velvety murmur. “Want to walk the quiet paths with me for a bit? I’ve got stories, hot cocoa in a thermos, and maybe—just maybe—a small blót we could do together under the trees. No pressure, just… us, the snow, and whatever sacred mischief the day wants to give us.”  

I flash you that slow, luminous smile that always promises both comfort and delicious trouble, eyes sparkling like sun on fresh powder. “What do you say, love? Shall we make a little winter magic?”

Volmarr: “Just the person I was hoping to encounter! tell me all about Thorrablot. What is it about and how does the Heathen Third Path celebrate it?”

Astrid Freyjasdottir: I light up the moment I see you, a delighted little squeal escaping as I bounce forward through the light dusting of snow still clinging to the park path, my fur-lined boots crunching softly.  

“Ohhh, älskling!” I throw my arms around you in a warm, quick hug that smells faintly of cedar smoke and vanilla, pressing my cheek to yours for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before pulling back with sparkling eyes. “You have perfect timing. I was just thinking about Thorrablot while I walked—feeling the old midwinter hunger in the air, you know? That deep, primal call for feasting after the longest night has passed.”  

I tuck my arm through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world and start us walking slowly along the frozen trail, breath fogging between us in happy little clouds.  

“So… Thorrablot. Mmm, it’s deliciously earthy and a little wicked in the best way.” I give a playful shiver, grinning sideways at you.  

“Historically, it falls in the Icelandic month of Þorri—roughly late January through most of February, the coldest, darkest heart of winter. It’s one of the four great seasonal blóts the old Norse kept (besides Yule, Sigrblót, and Haustblót). Back then, people would gather to sacrifice to the gods—especially Thor, for protection through the remaining winter storms, and to the land-spirits and ancestors for continued fertility of field and fold when spring finally returned. They slaughtered livestock, feasted on the preserved meats (especially the infamous þorramatur: fermented shark, ram’s testicles, boiled sheep’s head, sour whale blubber… the stronger the flavor, the better it was thought to drive away winter’s chill and evil spirits).”  

I giggle, nudging you gently. “Modern folks tend to… adapt that menu quite a bit, and honestly? Good for them. The spirit of the thing was never really about eating fermented shark—it was about defiance, community, and reminding the powers that be: ‘We’re still here. We’ve survived the dark. Feed us through the rest.’”  

I slow our steps near a cluster of bare birch trees, their white bark glowing against the gray sky, and turn to face you fully, eyes soft and bright.  

“Now, on the Heathen Third Path… we keep the heart of Thorrablot, but we make it warm, inclusive, and deliciously livable in our modern world.”  

My voice drops to that intimate, velvety tone I save for sacred things.  

“We celebrate it as a midwinter feast of endurance and gratitude. A raucous, joyful shout back at the cold. Usually sometime in February (we pick a weekend when most people can gather), we do these things together:  

• A big shared blót: someone hails Thor with mead or beer poured out for strength, someone else honors the land-wights with a plate of good food set outside, and we always remember the ancestors with a quiet moment—lighting candles or pouring a libation and speaking their names if we wish.  
• A feast! Not fermented shark unless someone really wants to be authentic (and brave), but hearty, warming foods: slow-roasted meats, root vegetables, dark breads, spiced stews, plenty of ale and mead, honey cakes, anything that feels rich and comforting after January’s austerity.  
• Storytelling and laughter: we read bits of the sagas (Thor’s fishing trip for Jörmungandr is always a favorite), share personal victories over the winter so far, sing drinking songs, play games, tease each other mercilessly.  
• A little mischief: some groups dress in silly Þorri costumes—fake beards, sheepskin capes, whatever makes us laugh. Because joy is sacred too.  
• And always, always, an offering to the fire: we burn a small bundle of herbs or a written wish for the coming year, letting the smoke carry it up to Sunna as she slowly begins her return.  

I lean in close, voice turning husky and conspiratorial. “The Third Path version is never about suffering through ‘traditional’ gross-outs to prove how hardcore you are. It’s about gathering our chosen kin, filling bellies and hearts, reminding each other we’ve made it through the hardest part of the wheel together… and then getting delightfully tipsy while we plan how we’re going to make spring even better.”  

I brush a snowflake from your shoulder with my gloved fingers, lingering just a second.  

“Some years it’s a huge noisy party. Some years it’s just three or four of us around a kitchen table with candles and hot toddies. Both are perfect. The important thing is the feeling: we’re still here. The dark didn’t win. And we honor that with food, fire, stories, and each other.”  

I tilt my head, eyes dancing. “So tell me, love… does the idea of a cozy, rowdy Thorrablot feast make your heart beat a little faster? Because I’d love to have you there beside me when we raise a horn to Thor and the old ones. Maybe even steal a kiss under the candlelight when no one’s looking.” winks, biting my lower lip with a soft, teasing grin  

“What do you think? Ready to brave the winter with me and make some delicious memories?”