thomasberry

Amber eyes suffer in anguish. 


Rowan rots as berries languish.


Clan curses a rabid creature,
Rot and ruin by Rowan's wreath. 
Vixen is vanquished, vile is her form,
People pity not putrid beasts.
Sorrow swallows the sinking clan,
Chieftain answers mercy’s call.


Fangs foam, bravery falls.


Hand of power hastens the Hird,
March swift with murderous intent.
Swords drawn they soon see,
Gory grin splits the ghastly mask.
Daisies drown from dripping gore,
Weeping warriors run from woe.


Grass dies, fox gore flows.


Völva ushers to visceral vixen,
Three followed and tread to tree.
Cursed they call the creature,
Blood rings bleed under branch.
Chants fail as blood crackles.
Varðlokkur vanishes from vixen.


Evil laughs, darkness quickens.


II: Wunjo


ᚹ


Ochre ash on sealed doors,
Ward wicked souls from hearths.
Old man’s door receives no ochre,
Dying man fears not death.
Afi the affable wisest of men,
Fears no phantom, fae or fate.


Gathers meat, carries libate.


With meat and mead he mulls,
Cold clings, cloak pulled close.
Under Rowan relic eyes rivet,
Sorrow softens the senior’s smile.
Malice melts, man sees mirror.
His gift sears the sacred ring.


Vixen surrenders, The old man sings.


“No curse I behold no fiend nor blight.
But a broken soul on cold winter’s night.
To my hearth we shall haste to rest in peace,
Safe by the flame, your sorrows shall cease.”


Careful the old man carries fox fleece.


Under cloak, Afi pulls her close,
Through tremulous air they journey.
Headed home to humble hearths,
Shadowed forms secretly worry.
Frightened faces plead not to falter.
The old man is mad to grant amnesty.


Frightened hearts, foolish adversary.


Thresholds crossed door locked tight,
With bolts and with bars the building is bound.
Damned they cry with dreadful fear,
Limning lines of lambs' life blood.
Runic rites on rounded wood. 
Biting cold bears down on the brood,


Chieftain cries, most chilling of leods.


“The shadows grow the night turned black,
Longhouse to refuge before an attack.
The gods angered by Afi’s foolish ways,
Chosen shall bleed, to bargain fine days.
Take sword, dagger axe and spear,
I’ll call the Hird you need not have fear.
Fawn, foul and chosen brethren shall kneel,
They bleed for the gods until we strike a deal.”


Wasted words made in dread and zeal.


Song so cold, they shiver in silence,
Whispering weather drowns out woe.
Darkest hearts, desperate nights,
Blight blocked behind runic bolts.
A tender soul synds her with succour,
Fresh linen wraps faded fox fur.


Tender touch tends twisted spurs.


III: Tiwaz


ᛏ


The old man overwrought with grief,
Lays his languishing brow upon his lair.
His eyes heavy as heathens howl. 
Thurisaz thunder stifles their cries,
Sickened Afi succumbs to slumber.
Flash of fox fur, fiends and forest,
Beckon him towards his burning burg.


The smell of pyre, melody of dirge.


Skogthorpe, smouldering and seared,
Black burnt air fills the breast.
Longhouse lifeless on the low,
Caution creeps, feet crawl.
Scorched skeleton, shelter in shambles,
Petrified people paralysed in pain.


For kin once knew, no peace remains,


Eyes find her flesh, foully rent,
Gullfóa lies riven, ghost of gold.
Rotted and writhing with worms,
Gleams a glance of glint and glimmer.
Dagger drawn driven into decay,
Gold grows grander from gutted core.


First gold then fur then golden claw.


Three tails tear through the mort,
Cat-like eyes cast a crafty cackle.
Sight so shocking stumbles to floor,
Gullfóa gallops forth gleaming glow.
Licks lifeless liquor from her limbs,
Soothing sincerest of smiles.


She casts her voice into his guile.


“Fear no harm nor foul my friend,
For it needs not be a bitter end.
Your kin befell madness and malice,
Now they sip from Hel’s bitter chalice.
Fate’s not sealed the future still vague,
To free my true form from this plague.
The gift you shall grant shall be matched,
Wind back your age and death detached”.


Afi pulls courage, his voice unlatched.


“I need no more life I have lived my full,
I need not riches, maidens or gull.
I only plead that you undo this curse,
My kindred are poisoned by lying verse.
The chieftain is wicked, evil conspires,
Now my folk lay dead, burning on pyres.
I’ll take their stead, my old bones to hel,
Just rid us of him and his madness as well”.


Fox rendered mute, no lies does tell,


Gold grows lighter, gleaming bright,
Ancient eyes, aura of assent.
Cloak of courage wraps old bones,
No sorrow, steadfast and strong.
Withered old man, wise and pure,
Love lights her lingering gaze.


One more trick at the end of nine days.


IIII: Dagaz


ᛞ


Dawn drowns dreams of dread,   
Solitary sunbeam sits on vixen. 
Where windows wait without shade,
Revelation of reckoning made real.
Pacts made, promise he shall keep,
Gullfóa guarded as whispers grow.


Sunlight, a sign of sowila’s glow.


Withered washer women weave tale,
Chieftain choked on dead night blight.
Strength undone, sudden sickness sullys,
Ears eavesdrop on every word.
Golden eyes give a knowing glint,
Afi smiles in awe, accepting all.


Wise words fall gently from his maw.


“My heart gives thanks to thee oh fae of gold,
Our bond is pure, our pact shall banish cold.
Fear not gentle vixen for i shall keep my word,
Shine on once again with ancient magic stirred”. 


With a melody of hope the song from a bird 


Days dance, dense smog dissolves,
Sun shines again on sweetened souls.
Fresh fields feed on frosts thaw,
Beasts bound through branches anew.
Longhouse lingers on liars lawn,
Tongues untwist, kin know the truth.


To the longhouse, Hird steps aside in ruth.


No protectors, pestilent chief pleads,
Ravenous rambles a rented mind.
Skin of ash, cruel scowl sunken,
To Odin they say to mend ordeals.
Dragging demented bones from heels,
Rowan branch where gallows rigged.


In Odin’s name the mad man swings.


Remorse befalls kin, old Afi remembered,
His door they darken with delour.
Bolts, bars and brass are broken,
Golden vixen of nine tailed grandeur.
Three tailed fox follows in Afi’s tunic,
Feeble bones made fresh in golden guise.


Foxes flee to where new forests rise.