this is just personal writing, on the experience as a Ranger in the North.
It provides for a more poetic outlook on the lives of Dunadain Men.
A poem composed on a winter night in the North, as the light of Aurora Borealis shone through the clouds.
The Northern Light
« In the forlorn longing of lores long lost,
the northern light lived lying on the frost,
of a snow – slowly sowed by the vow so pale,
that foretold the old tales of blood and ale.
Tracking the pack of wolves ever so woven,
on the earth smelling of mirth and hellishly heaten',
the scent of seven dozen centaurs or more,
or were they mounted men towering towards him ?
The ranger sensing the danger, arranged to the composure,
of a poor stranger, seeking food and shelter,
but the horses, their neighs hoarse and coarse,
could sense the waver in his bartering discourse.
Were they men, they who mended, made no amends to a man,
if they sought to seek trouble, would get naught but double,
or were they creatures of the night, denied by their creator,
the ranger's plight was only promise of release for a savior. »