Across the sky lightning runs in a strike unlike any other. The sun beams down and the clouds are no where to be found; it is not a storm. The strike is quick and it is precise. It lands directly to the center of the open green hills of the northern land. A loud crash is sounded and the raw energy of the sky is gone. As rapidly as it came, and with the strength of any storm, so too does it vanish.
Standing there amongst the lightly burned grass of the pasture is a man with long reddish hair dreaded into rows and yet flowing like the ocean. His beard reaches his belly but it is clean and clear as if just washed in a mountain spring. His body is bulged with muscle and his armor thick of steel. From his shoulders falls a brash noble cloak of a dark green tint. He is tired clearly. His shoulders fall slightly slumped and his mouth lies agape taking in air as quickly as it is able. In his right hand sits a hammer with a head heavy and thick, inscribed with runes and markings unknown to many but glorious in their artistic style. The pummel is short, far shorter than any ordinary hammer used for combat, yet it hinders the man none.
He looks up and all around to notice the landscape. It is gorgeous with rolling green hills and tall brilliant mountains giving way to a small river that runs through it all. He is far from any man, and likely wants it that way. However, upon a near hill there sits a cabin of sorts. It appears to be more of a well-built camp than perhaps a poorly-built home. It matters little however, as the man makes his way there.
Upon this place there sits a fire pit with a flame already lit and a well carved carcass spinning above. There are small stumps fashioned into tables and stools and upon some sit mugs of cool clean water. Animal furs also make up a bed and blankets for the cool evenings. The bearded man sits and catches his breath for a moment. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes; the breeze brings him peace. The sounds of the crackling fire and the running river remind him that, albeit not with his family, he is certainly home. A man approaches.
“Hello there, neighbor,” the newcomer greets him. He is old, as his hairs have grown gray. His eyes are rough and wrinkled but also very welcoming. He seems vastly underwhelmed at his surprise visitor.
“My apologies,” the bearded man begins, “I was only resting for a moment. My day has been long and my body has grown weary. I did not mean to trouble you.”
“Oh, it is no trouble at all.” The old man takes a seat across the fire. “We are in the open and all are welcome. Here, have some food; it should be well cooked and please take a drink of some refreshing water.”
“Thank you kindly, good sir!”
“My name is Kort,” the old man said.
“And mine Thor.”
“It is a pleasure, Thor. I do not get many visitors out here, its always a welcome surprise when one comes.” Kort turned away with a broad smile on his face and looked to the bright midday sky. He scanned the horizons and watched the mountains. His eyes sparkled as he took in the majesty of his surroundings. “No matter how long I stay here,” He began, “I never grow tired of the sights. It is a beautiful country. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Thor stopped gulping down his drink between bites of the roasted beast long enough to mutter a brief response, “Mhm, yes.”
Kort took in a deep breath as his grin widened. “A beautiful world really.” He looked around once more very meticulously and then turned his gaze back to the hulking man before him. “What brings you here?”
“Only a bit of rest, I must admit.” Thor said quickly as he scarfed down the last of the roast. “I unfortunately came here after a bit of… misfortune with a brother.” He grew silent for a moment and then continued to sip at his water.
“Oh yes,” Kort said in a calming tone, “family can be a challenge sometimes.” He breathed in the fresh air once more. His mild manner was almost intoxicating as he moved so calmly and spoke with a soft yet very noticeable voice. “But it is those we choose to love that really mean the most.” Kort’s eyes met with Thor’s “even if they don’t always make the feeling mutual.”
Thor nodded. “You understand family troubles well, I see.”
Kort only gave a brief chuckle. “Well, I am old. I’ve had my share of troubles and learned many a lesson. It’s all in the end what matters though. So long as you spread a little kindness and show a smile when you can spare it, the troubles seem to really melt away.”
“Hmm,” Thor uttered as he sipped a while longer at his drink. “You certainly don’t seem to be lacking in kindness. Unfortunately, kindness does not claim victory against our foes.”
“Perhaps, not on the battlefield.” Kort turned and noticed there upon the ground Thor’s weapon; a great heavy hammer. It sat with the pommel towards the sky and its head near the flame. “Your hammer may grow a bit hot so close to the fire. May I move it for you?”
Thor let out a mild laugh. “You may try.”
“Oh, is it heavy?”
“Some would consider it unmovable.”
“Well, I am not so strong as yourself but you are my guest, allow me to help you with your burden.” Kort leaned over and gently lifted the weapon. He held it near his face so that he may glance over the writings on it. Thor sat for a moment aghast. Kort had not even struggled. He moved the great hammer as if it had been a feather from a crow.
“It is a lovely hammer,” Kort spoke.
“I… I am surprised you were able to move it at all. Many cannot.”
“But isn’t that just the way life is,” Kort said with a loving smile, “What is difficult to many may be easy to others. That does not make them any less strong however.” He placed the hammer gently upon a stump nearby and grinned at Thor. “We all have our strengths and our weaknesses, but with a bit of kindness we can help each other through them. And perhaps in that way we can do more than just defeat our enemies. We can love them.”
Thor sat. His stomach filled with only one roast, and his thirst quenched with only a cup. His appetite was legend amongst countless nations, yet here he was satisfied so easily. His mind a mess having watched Kort move his weapon with such ease and frailness. He could not mistake the truth in what he had heard though. Mjölnir never judged incorrectly.