Thrym was alive and well, and they were riding him again! The water from the troll well had stirred him back to life, refreezing over the melted holes in his arms, legs, and chest, recrystallizing, and restoring him to health. How thrilled she had been, when Thrym had first come climbing out of the pit, to see the smooth solidity of his broad chest and limbs, to see him walking and talking once more. Many of the trollfolk had cowered in fear as lambs before a wolf when they saw him again towering over them. But to put them at ease and assure them of his friendship, he had gone down on his knees, bowing before Lord Dvalin—even in this position, he still dwarfed Dvalin—and in his deep and sonorous voice Thrym solemnly promised he would go to Utgard and end the brutal war on their kind, as a gesture of peace and goodwill. “If it’s not too much trouble,” Dvalin said, “could you also return the trolls taken prisoner?” “Yes, of course,” said Dane, catching a look from Thrym.
