Thorvald’s Wyrd 098
The first bits of ice felt almost like hard snowflakes, bouncing down the slope, over and off Thorvald’s shoulders. The chunks grew larger, from grains to pebbles to fingertips. When the first fist-sized chunk came popping out of the gloom, Thorvald bowed his head and squeezed against the ice, praying to withstand the coming onslaught.
The rumble grew to a roar as larger frozen chunks bounced over and around him. The first real impact on his back pulled a grunt from his lips, but the next came on its heels, and sharper as the roar grew to swallow the world.