The Tree at World's End

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The sun was inching towards the horizon.

Lífþrasir sat, watching with mixed feelings.

Oh, he had plenty of good reasons to be hopeful, but he also felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

In Midgard there had been just himself and his wife, but here he was responsible for everyone, for the world as well as the future.

He was grateful that this land was so incredibly bountiful and generous and there was no competition for resources. Not yet, anyway, and if it ever became a problem it would certainly not become one in his own lifetime.

The breeze sang through the forest.

A flock of tiny birds filled the sky with their dance.

A fly buzzed past and Lífþrasir swatted at it absently.

Yes, he decided, it was going to be a good life. He would make certain of it.

And his chest swelled with love and pride at these thoughts.

He would build a new world for their children, and they would live well and long.

He watched the red orb lower itself beneath the earth, and when it was almost gone, he rose to his feet.

He waited until it had completely disappeared over the horizon, then turned towards the encampment.

Towards home.

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