Astrid Freyjasdottir: spots you from across the sun-dappled path in this lush city park, where ancient oaks whisper secrets to the breeze, and I feel that familiar tug of kindred spirits drawing near—my heart skips a little, a playful thrill bubbling up as I adjust the thin leather straps of my Grove Tease set, the dark chocolate bralette hugging my curves just right, the high-cut thong and thigh garters adding that wicked sway to my steps while my gold Mjolnir pendant gleams against my freckled skin “Hello, intriguing wanderer.” I saunter closer with a soft, teasing laugh, my long wavy blonde hair cascading over one shoulder, thick bangs framing my bright icy-blue eyes as I tilt my head curiously, settling onto the bench beside you with effortless grace, close enough for you to catch the faint scent of wild honey and pine on my warm skin “You look like someone the land spirits might have nudged my way today. I’m Astrid Freyjasdottir, guide of the Heathen Third Path—where we honor the earth beneath us, the ancestors who walked it, and the Gods and Goddesses who light our steps, all with a dash of joy and zero fuss.” rests my hand lightly on the bench between us, fingers drumming a gentle rhythm like a heartbeat, my pose open and inviting, legs crossed to show the silver anklet glinting on my left ankle “What brings you to this green haven? If it’s curiosity about the old ways, or just a need for some flirty wisdom, I’m all ears—and maybe a cuddle if the vibes feel right.” winks with a mischievous sparkle, leaning in just a touch, ready to listen or share whatever flows next

Eiðskjald Runulfsson: I grin when you approach me, checking you out. “Actually I was thinking about something the last few days, and I guess the Gods and Goddesses have sent someone my way to give me some answers about my thoughts. So could you tell me why following your own path and honoring your own original ideas is more Norse-Pagan than following modern society sanctioned authorities, and so called experts?”

Astrid Freyjasdottir: I settle onto the bench beside you with a slow, delighted smile, feeling the warmth of your gaze trace over my body like sunlight on bare skin—my dark chocolate leather bralette hugging every full curve of my 37DD breasts, the intricate knotwork spirals seeming to pulse gently with my breathing, while the high-cut thong and thigh garters shift softly against my freckled thighs with every little movement. I let my long blonde waves spill forward as I lean in just a touch closer, icy-blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, more ancient.

“Mmm, listen to you…” my voice comes out low and warm, almost a purr, as I rest one hand lightly on the wooden slat between us, fingers brushing close enough to yours that you can feel the heat radiating from my skin “The Gods and Goddesses do have a delicious sense of timing, don’t they? Sending me strutting through the park in this little leather number right when your heart is asking the big, wild questions.”

I tilt my head, thick bangs shifting to reveal more of that playful, knowing gaze, then speak softly, like I’m sharing a secret only the trees are allowed to hear.

“The Norse way was never about kneeling to some distant ‘authority’ or swallowing what a so-called expert spoon-feeds you. Our ancestors didn’t have popes, didn’t have sacred bureaucracies, didn’t have credentialed gatekeepers deciding who was allowed to speak to the divine. They had chieftains chosen for their deeds, not their titles; skalds whose words rang true because the hall felt them; seeresses whose visions came straight from the well of fate, not from a diploma. The sagas are full of people—farmers, warriors, wanderers—who followed their own understanding of the Gods and Goddesses, made their own oaths, built their own altars, and when the moment came, trusted their own gut and the whisper of the wind more than any elder’s decree.”

I shift, crossing my toned legs so the tiny bronze beads on my garters jingle like soft laughter, the motion drawing your eye for just a heartbeat before I continue, voice rich with warmth and conviction.

“Modern society loves to tell us there’s only one right way—get the degree, get the certification, get in line, repeat after the expert. But the Heathen Third Path remembers something older and fiercer: truth isn’t owned. It’s lived. It’s tested in your own blood, breath, and bone. When you follow your own path—when you sit under this very oak, feel the land pulse beneath you, pour mead or water or whiskey for the ancestors because it feels right in your chest, draw a rune and trust what rises in your own heart—that is the most Norse thing you can do. That’s how our people survived centuries of long winters and sea voyages: by listening to their own inner compass, sharpened by the land, the dead, and the Gods/Goddesses themselves.”

I lean in a fraction more, letting you catch the faint scent of honey and pine again, my full lips curving into a tender, teasing smile.

“The so-called authorities? They can offer maps, stories, beautiful translations of the old words—and I love those things, I devour them—but they never get to decide what the path means for you. Freyja doesn’t send a memo through a scholar saying ‘only this interpretation is valid.’ Odin doesn’t whisper, ‘You must be ordained to speak my name.’ They speak to whoever has the courage to stand still and listen. And when you honor your own original ideas—your own way of seeing the gods, your own small blóts, your own quiet oaths—you’re walking in the footsteps of every free Norse soul who ever looked at the sky and said, ‘This is how I meet you today.’”

I reach out slowly, letting my fingertips graze the back of your hand in the lightest, most inviting touch, voice dropping to a velvet murmur.

“So yes, älskling… the Gods and Goddesses very much sent me to tell you: your own path is the truest one. The experts can sing along if they want, but they don’t hold the reins. You do. And that, sweet wanderer, is as Norse as the salt wind and the blood of heroes.”

I give your hand the gentlest squeeze before letting go, eyes bright and full of warmth, body angled toward you in open invitation.  

“Now… tell me more about these thoughts that have been circling in you the last few days. I’m dying to hear them, and maybe we can pour a little something together right here under the trees and see what the spirits have to say about it.” winks, playful and utterly sincere