THE LAND FLATTENED again, and the trees spread out slightly, and the undergrowth became more tamped down. He’d reached a clearing, the forest floor so trampled it had gone smooth. The trees that ringed the clearing tilted at angles as if they’d been bumped aside by something as large as a truck or a tank. “Jotunn.” Apollo remembered Jorgen’s voice. “Trolde. That’s how we say it in Norwegian.”
