Thorvald’s Wyrd 014
“Well shot.” One-eye nodded to the Huntmaster.
Blue eyes shining, the blond man bowed his head. “Thank you, High One.”
As the horses slowed to approach the small house, the Hunt spread into a loose semi-circle, mimicking the wolves’ path.
A fur-covered man stood at the door, ankle deep in the snow. In one hand he held a large axe, and in the other clutched the Spear so recently cast into the night. Turning his head, One-Eye squinted down. “Is this the one, then? Has he the strength and wit to do what needs must? Can he serve the Wyrd?”