Thorvald’s Wyrd 100
The rumble faded away as the Mountain’s slope ceased its downward crawl to leave a rumpled, white mess covering the southern face, reaching from its toes half way to its peaks. Above that line, a clean, clear surface gleamed in the starlight.
For a frozen moment of time, even the wind stopped. Deep, gasping laughter wrapped around the Mountain and its glow faded quickly to nothing. A chill settled over the Plain and the whole of the nine worlds.
At the Mountain’s knee, a small block of ice shifted. Fingers scratched at the air, and the Mountain began to shine.