A specific draw

Old North · cloudy

Frigg

the cloud-weaver, queen of Ásgard

When Baldr began to dream of his own death, Frigg went out and took an oath from everything in the world, from fire and water, from iron and every ore, from stones, trees, sicknesses, beasts, birds and creeping things, that none of them would harm her son. Only one small shoot west of Valhalla she passed over, mistletoe, too young she thought to swear. You know how that story ends, everyone does. But look at what she tried, a mother weatherproofing the whole world one promise at a time. Under this grey ceiling you stand inside somebody's enormous carefulness, and even the one gap in it was made of gentleness.

Cloud that thins at evening is Fensalir opening a shutter, say the small kind thing before dark.