Járngerðr

Your campsite is dark. Dreary. Your journey through the Baltic Sea amongst a trading vessel has been exhausting. Having been settled in for the night following a long day of traveling north, you are just about to fall asleep when the most silent of rustles jostles you awake. It had been so quiet, that you presumed it to be a squirrel.
Crunch.
Your heart raced as you realize why the sound of the firewood crumbling in your fire pit is so scary. It’s silent: too silent. You watch a huge shadow encompass your tent. Someone- something is out there. A feminine voice calls out from the closed flaps of your tent, a dark hand brushing aside the flap. Human.