Thorvald’s Wyrd 093
It blocked a small portion of the sky in Thorvald’s path, stealing some few stars from his view. The Ice Mountain’s jagged, double peak took Mani’s feeble rays and bent them into lopsided eyes, red with hatred and malevolence.
With each step the mountain grew taller and sharper to his eyes, and Thorvald wondered if it were some trick of the dimness or if, perhaps, the Mountain were far smaller than the picture he’d built in his mind. Perhaps it seemed huge only because the landscape for leagues upon leagues in any direction was so flat.
He grimly pressed on.