Hjortr

Ice was clinging to the window panes, creating a myriad of patterns across the surface. A biting wind whistled through the minute cracks in the frames. Joy pinned her shawl about her shoulders and shuddered lightly. She was sat amongst the tomes of the scholars stair, candle light flickering against the winter gloaming light, cascading patterns and shadows across the dusty room. In front of her lay several crisp sheets of text.

With eyes set to kill

And clothes drenched in blood

With the scent of death and agony

Under the stars of the North

In the midst of night

A deed of vengeance arose

They took from him, his own blood

A son he raised and loved

They took his pride