Small Realities

Inside the mind of Lance Schonberg

Thorvald’s Wyrd 016

The Spearmaster’s boots struck ground with a thud muffled by the fresh-fallen snow.  He placed a hand on the kneeling man’s shoulder and smiled.  “Rise, lad.  Rise and keep hold of my trusted weapon for the moment.”

Eyes stretching their sockets, the man rose and clutched Gungnir as if some fierce wind might steal it away.  “There are no words for this honour, Lord.”

One-Eye’s beard bristled as his smile broadened.  “Walk with me, my son.  There are things to discuss, and much I have to ask of you.  You may throw Gungnir to the ground in disgust before long.”

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