We'll sail by
King Vargr's straining Moon,
Dragon-prowed
from Thüle, north by north.
Flesh of foe
shall soon adorn our fangs.
We bear the
blighting horrors of the cold.
Bowels will
stream like water to our howl,
As heart's
blood freezes unto blacken'd ice.
See... my
fortress carven all of ice;
A deathly blue
beneath the heartless moon.
Beware ye of
the might of Castle Howl,
Unmatched
bastion lording o'er the north.
Gusting from
its walls a stinging cold.
Its
crenelations stab the clouds like fangs.
I am
Kulmahampaat Silver Fangs,
Chief of every
wolf that treads 'pon ice.
My rule is
ancient, iron-wrought and cold.
My Varulfüren,
snarling 'neath the moon,
Comprise the
fiercest troop in all the north,
Yet even they
must cringe before my howl.
(One there is
who bows not ere my howl:
That mighty
cat with stabbing dagger-fangs,
The elder lord
Nimravus of the North.
Wielding
hammer wrought by spikes of ice,
Fear he casts
'pon all beneath the moon.
I shall not
rest 'til he lies dead and cold.)
O King, we bring
you wolfbears from the cold;
Ferocious
brutes that slaver, snap and howl,
Spraying
drool, and madden'd 'neath the moon.
The foe will
sag and rip betwixt their fangs.
Their mighty
claws are cold, and sharp as ice.
Ysengrinir;
terrors of the north.
We are the
winter'd wolfmen of the north,
Hamrammr,
white-furred, warm against the cold.
Our ships come
threading through the floes of ice.
The calving
bergs give echo as we howl.
Aurora lambent
glitters 'pon our fangs,
As we sail
'neath the Vargr's ruptured moon.
The north
shall hear my long poetic howl,
This cold sestina flung forth from my fangs,
As shards of
bloodied ice transfix the moon.
