Thorvald’s Wyrd 129
Of sunset, only a red glow in the west remained. Bright stars sprinkled the sky, heralds of the crisp, clear night to come. Witness to all he’d experienced saving only those final moments deep in the Mountain, those same stars flickered and blinked. They watched him still.
Cold began to gnaw through Thorvald’s boots and mittens, and hunger at his belly. The fire and stewpot called. Inside, the warm glow welcomed him home and he stared into the flames while he ate.
After a time, a knock came behind him and, setting down his bowl, Thorvald turned for the door.