A tremendous palace, all of ice
“Just as I got to sleep!” he growled. “To have a twig drop on me! There must be birds building a nest in the branches above here. Are you awake, my little gods? Well, Thor, you are up early! What do you say to starting on?”
And with that, Skrymir stretched his great arms and sprang up as if nothing had happened. As for his forehead, it was as sound and firm as ever.
Thor leaned back weakly against the oak. “Yes,” he gasped, “let us be going.”
So Skrymir shouldered his great wallet again, and set off whistling across the field, with the gods following limply after. At the meadow’s edge Skrymir stopped and waited. Beyond a line of trees stretched a hard, bright road, gleaming like a sea of white marble in the sun.
Skrymir pointed along it. “This road,” said he kindly, “takes you to the palace of the giant king. My way lies over the hills so I must be saying good-by. Many thanks for your pleasant company, my little friends. You will be well received in Giantland. Only remember your size, and don’t get to boasting, my tiny gods. Here’s your wallet now; and good luck go with you.”