Small Realities

Inside the mind of Lance Schonberg

Thorvald’s Wyrd 127

One hand still warm from Sunna’s grasp, Thorvald realized his other still held Gungnir.  He could not remember retrieving it from Icewind’s throne room nor carrying it up the melting stairs, yet his fingers wrapped around the haft with the comfort of an old and dear friend.

He dropped to one knee and, bowing his head, swung the Spear to balance on open palms.  “Only that you accept the return of your most sacred talisman with my great gratitude.”

“It served you well?”

“It did, All Father, but it serves you better, I think.”

The weight lifted from Thorvald’s palms.

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