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“You are the ones who came looking for us,” I hiss at him. “Now that you’ve found us, are you regretting that we have mouths and hands that can grasp you as you grasp us?”
“It’s a strange god that must birth himself a second time,” Thrain rumbles. “Perhaps he knew he would not be entirely real until he was birthed by a woman.”
“Here is the tale of how we came to meet Thrain Mordsson, beloved son of the Vestfold, known thereafter as the Great Wolf of Dublin…” “Oh, may Mjölnir drop on your head,” Thrain rants, pushing himself up. “I’ll tell the damn thing.”