With Thor went the hungry god Loki, and the swift runner Thialfi. All day long they walked together through sunny mists across the bare, green uplands, and just at nightfall they came to a wide moor. As far as they could see, there was not a house, nor a shed, nor any kind of shelter. Not even a tree broke the soft horizon. Thialfi ran ahead; and Loki, who was ravenous, walked furiously. Only Thor did not notice. He was planning how he would put the giants in their place.
It grew darker and darker. The mist which had played about them all day in gentle clouds, rose in a damp, gray fog. It filled their throats and their eyes. They lost sight of Thialfi altogether. Loki stepped back, groping to make sure that Thor was there behind him; and plunged on again, sullen and dripping.
Somewhere through the fog there came a shout. It was Thialfi far ahead. “Halloo!” he cried. “Halloo-oo-oo! Shelter!”
Thor and Loki answered, walking faster. Thialfi’s voice was louder now, and plainer. “Here!” he cried. “Here! Here!”
It seemed as if they must be close upon him. But the fog ahead grew no brighter. “Where is the house?” shouted Loki. “Hasn’t it a light?”
With Thor went hungry Loki and swift Thialfi
But even as he spoke, they stumbled across a wide threshold. Above them through the thick grayness they could make out a low ceiling. They put out their hands, groping for the door-arch, and met only empty air. There seemed to be no doorway at all; or rather, there was nothing but doorway,—a great entrance, like the mouth of a cave, as wide as the building itself.
Thor struck his hammer on the floor. “Who’s here?” he thundered. But there was no reply,—only soft echoes, “Here—here—here!”