Possible names include Sturgeon, Grain, Red, and Green Corn. Mani indicated that He’d like me to use Grain, though I make no guarantees He’d convey the same to anyone else. The following is a piece of sacred fiction inspired by answersfromvanaheim‘s full moon theories [example].
Hati glances up to the sky, noting that the clouds were still covering the moon in a shimmering curtain. He looks over Midgard, eyes peeled for the distinctive glimmer. Not chatting up any of Aegir’s kin near the ocean, not among the trees, not – yes, a flash in the fields.
Hati jumps from one cloud to another on his way down, nodding to Jormundgand as he passes over an ocean. Mani isn’t running away, so there isn’t a pressing need to chase him down. The field in question doesn’t look very remarkable – soft heads of grain move with the breeze, about mid-chest high. A hand reaches up from the stalks followed by a triumphant, “Ha”.
“Catching fireflies, again?”
Mani’s smile flickers, as he looks over to Hati. His face is youthfully vibrant and clear, and he releases the firefly with a slight shrug before sinking below the stalks. Hati weaves among the grain and works his way in to the middle of the field. Mani is crouched near a topless glass jar, whispering to the fireflies inside. He sets the jar down and follows Hati back out of the field, looking just a hair below ‘child caught with his hand in the cookie jar’ guilty.
Mani takes the lead in walking back up through the clouds with Hati following a few steps behind. After a moment or two, Hati speaks, “You can’t make every firefly you meet into a star, y’know.”