...Melchant, being the father of Thundar stood before his son as the heavens opened. The peoples of the village stood, their torchlight piercing the darkness as they faced the prodigal return of the shamed girl-boy.
Melchant tried to see under the heavy pelt which obscured Thundar's honest brow.
"Be thee my son? Speak if thou art. Will thouest refrain from answering thy father, thy kin?"
Thundar said naught. A sudden wind of Valhalla blew aside his cloak and in the momentary light from a forked bolt from on high, Melchant and the villagers saw the rising of a great fist.
Thundar, in his terrible glory cast back his forecoat and with a deft swing, let his mighty fist smote his father's head in two like a mallet through wet bread.
His father's head disappeared in a cloud of red shame, and the people, they did flee from the boy and his erect fist.
Some Nordic battlers, fully of mirth and the vine, saught to attack and repel the might of Thundar's bulbuous fist. But he cut them in two like small dwarf kin, waving the thunderfist like a mighty flesh coloured baton.
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