Thjálfi was thirteen years old the evening Thor came to dinner. Thor ate a lot. Thor always ate a lot. He had slaughtered his own goats and roasted them over the fire, and he told everyone to eat as much as they wanted, but that they absolutely must not touch the bones. "Place all bones on the hides," said Thor. "Whole and undamaged."
Thjálfi nodded and ate. The meat was the best he had ever tasted. But then he noticed the thighbone on his plate, and he knew that inside that bone sat the marrow, and marrow tastes like the most delicious thing in the entire world.
He looked at Thor. Thor was talking to his father. He looked at his sister Röskva. She was not looking. Thjálfi took his knife, cut into the bone, and sucked out the marrow.
Next morning Thor struck his hammer over the goatskins and the goats rose alive again, as they always did. But one goat limped. Thor went quiet. That was worse than if he had shouted. He looked at the bone. He looked at Thjálfi. Thjálfi felt roughly as big as a mouse.
"You broke the bone," said Thor.
"Yes," said Thjálfi.
"You are coming with me," said Thor.
And that was how Thjálfi became Thor's companion. Not because he was strong. Not because he was brave. Because he had done something stupid, and in the world of gods you pay for your stupidities, and sometimes the payment is an adventure.
Thor walked fast. Very fast. Thjálfi had to nearly run to keep up. But Thjálfi was fast. Faster than any other human, in fact. He did not know that yet, but he would find out.
The strange thing was that Thor needed him. Not for carrying things, though he did carry things. Not for cooking, though he did cook. Thor needed him because he was small. Thor was so big that he did not see things on the ground. Thjálfi saw them. The tracks in the mud. The little path that cut through the forest. The stream with fresh water behind the bushes.
"Good eyes," said Thor one day. And that was the longest praise Thjálfi ever received from him, and it lasted him for years.
Sometimes in the evenings, when they sat by a fire out in the open, Thor told stories. Short stories. About giants he had fought. About places he had been. And Thjálfi listened and said nothing, because he had learned that silence is sometimes the best company.
And if you wonder whether Thjálfi ever regretted that bit of marrow, the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, the answer is no. Not because it was right to break the bone. It was wrong. But sometimes the dumbest thing you do leads to the best thing that happens to you, and that is not an excuse, it is just true.