Happy book day to F is for Fairy, which contains my short story "B is for Burned/Every Broken Creature." Here's a bit of that story to entice you across the veil:
Among the humans, it was said that Óðinn once guided the mighty, eight-legged steed called Sleipnir too close to the Earth, and where his great hoof grazed the ground, Ásbyrgi Canyon came to be. The álfar were not the ancient gods of the North, nor did they worship these holy ones as some of their hálf álfur children did. Neither had they created the canyon with the ship that had brought them to it and transformed into the capitol their descendants inhabited now. Rather, it was as if the álfar had begged permission of the stones, the trees, and the water to abide there. Rugged cliffs held a council chamber, concert hall, and other compartments filled with contrivances that performed enigmatic tasks. Stands of birches bent together with the help of artful silverwork to become dwellings. Tall spires draped in lichen brought water up from beneath the valley floor to rain on the gardens. It was a city only the álfar understood fully, a refuge for people who had transmuted both their bodies and their science to suit the place they had come to inhabit, whose true appearances, names, and histories were only spoken amongst themselves, and whose gods, if indeed they had any, were inscrutable as those who worshipped them and belonged to the distant star from whence they had all come.