Thorvald’s Wyrd 119
Gradually, Icewind’s struggles grew weaker until the sorcerer finally collapsed to his stomach. Long past the certainty that the giant had ceased in his efforts to draw breath, Thorvald held fast, not trusting the sorcerer to die when any mortal creature would have long departed for the afterlife. Only when the last of his battle rage faded and the frigid air seeped into his muscles, did he relax his grip. Laying his cheek on the orange collar, Thorvald closed his eyes and let his body relax.
In a saga, I would have something clever to say. Instead, he passed out.