Small Realities

Inside the mind of Lance Schonberg

Thorvald’s Wyrd 010

The spear weighed too little to be so long, a handspan more than he stood tall, at least.  Light, straight, and balanced so he might throw farther than he’d ever cast a weapon before.  Moonlight fell on the spearhead as the clouds tore apart to free Mani.  The snow stopped falling in the next moment, but Thorvald didn’t notice, his eyes locked on the gleaming runes etched into the bronze.

His fist clenched around the shaft, fingers surely whitening under the fur gloves, as something stirred deep in his guts.  Tracing each rune with his eyes, Thorvald began to tremble.

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