Small Realities

Inside the mind of Lance Schonberg

Thorvald’s Wyrd 096

One hundred seventy-one steps into the climb, the storm began.

Wind, already strong and cold enough to bite flesh, gushed down the mountain, bringing the sting of tiny ice teeth with every passing moment.  Thorvald’s progress, already slow, became little more than a shuffle across the step he’d just climbed onto.  Afraid the wind might push him from his feet, he sat on the next, swinging his legs up while using the butt of Gungnir to help steady the movement.

With the holy spear as a walking stick, he rose and began to slide forward just as the rumbling began.

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