Small Realities

Inside the mind of Lance Schonberg

Thorvald’s Wyrd 012

The first growl told Thorvald he was a fool.  The second made him a dead one.  Blinded by the glorious thing he held, he’d forgotten the wolves again, and long enough to throw away survival.

They gathered in a loose almost-circle around him, huge and dark and hungry, hackles raised and eyes narrowed.

One step to the door.  Another to get inside.  Thorvald knew he couldn’t move quickly enough to put wood between them.  In the moment he tensed, they’d leap, so he held his ground.

He might die a fool, but other blood than his would stain the snow.

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