He came from the north, from the land of unchanging blue ice that never melts nor moves. The sledge was pulled by four white behemoths, their muscles straining to carry his mass.

The small village on the edge of the ice was called Haven by its inhabitants. Outsiders didn’t know it existed. Ham was fourteen when the stranger came calling. His father was the blacksmith, the largest man in their tiny community. The stranger was twice his size. Massive forearms were bare, defying the cold. His legs were like the rocks close to the shore that had been left by glaciers millenia ago. The villagers gathered in silence, staring up at the fur covered figure, keeping their distance from the ivory bears.

Ham looked at his father and the other elders. They didn’t seem surprised to see this apparition, unlike the younger villagers.

“You have come again,” snarled Oltho, the chief elder.

The man scanned the boys, gathered in a knot for protection from the cold as much as from the stranger.

“Him.” He was pointing at Ham.

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