But Hugin, being the raven he is, just can’t leave it alone. Eventually, Munin gives in and brings him to the fields of the fallen.

Out back behind Yggdrasil* is this place you’ll never find unless you’re looking for it, because it’s hidden. It’s a battlefield. And it looks just like any other abandoned battlefield you’ll find in Asgard. Or Midgard** for that matter, except that Hugin and Munin are the only two ravens there. Dead warriors, disintegrating horses pooling in their plate-mail armor, bright blades snapped at the hilt and poxed with rust, mounds of dirt churned with maggots and pale roots, fingers reaching to the sky with bony wrists, skulls filled with shining, irregular jewels of pus– rot as far as the eye can see–as far as a raven can see–as far as a hawk can see. Farther than that. Past the horizon. It’s vast. It’s…

“Corpses?” Hugin asks.

“Memories.” Munin struts and preens his feathers.

Hugin looks around at the vastness of it, and says, “Then the question isn’t why does it take you so long to find Odin’s memories…but HOW YOU FIND IT AT ALL!” –He screeches this last bit so loud Munin scares up into the air for a second.

Munin lands in exactly the same place and clacks his beak at Hugin. “What, you don’t know where the memory of Baldur is the day before he died? Or the other names of the Norns? There are quite a few, you know! You want to know how I find it all? Caw! Like…this!”

*The “World Tree.” The Interstate Highway and Internet of the Gods–loosely translated.
**A word which here means the mortal realms.