They say a bird made the spheres, crafting through word and deed the distinct realms of water, earth, and air. But this god promptly left us. Our likely fate was for the firmament to collapse, all waters overrun their banks, the three realms muddying to a muddled gray.

Without the Ur-Weasel, we would have been lost.

And so we pray. On the Ur-Weasel’s most holy day, the High Norn holds a willow branch aloft and chants.

Let us speak now of the Great Stoat who separates sea from stone from sky!