Thorvald’s Wyrd 121
The most beautiful face in nine worlds smiled down on him, glowing with a warmth unknown to mortals. Sunna held out a pulsing hand. “Come. We must leave here, Saviour.”
It took tremendous effort to pull his arms free before Thorvald could press numb palms against the great corpse’s shoulders to sit on its back. He held a deep breath until his lungs ached, then exhaled and reached for her hand. A wave of dizziness rolled across him as he stood, but whether from exhaustion or the touch of a Goddess, he knew not.
Hands linked, they turned to leave.