into the first,
I spy with my silver-blue eye ...
the wind yowled like an angry housecat
and snow whipped my face,
cold hard shards of ice slicing my skin
but I stood, still;
the furs of Fenrir's children shielding my shoulders
whilst the shield of Járnviðr cradled my forearm,
the distance war cries of the enemies resonated off the cliffs of Skaði
spooking the horses at the anticipation
of an av a l a n c h e
but my warriors were sharp as new flint -
Odin's blessing burned in their hearts,
and Freyja's swallowed mine
we sat on a peak of Skaði's home, praying to the jotunn
for peace but for the moment.
the warriors of our seaside city were loyal -
they could hold fast to their honour
longer than a mother could hold her son back from horses.
I was proud to lead them, wielding my sword as swiftly
as Sigurðr wielded Hrotti in the days of old.
the jotunn goddess heard our prayers that moon-rise
as Freyja led our sword-arms to bathe
in the blood of the enemies;
we took no prisoners that night,
and feasted heartily upon returning to our home
drinking to the powers that be for our glorious battle;
the enemy would not be so foolish to try a raid
while Clan White Eagle still held a sword.