Epic poem

Of the sagas and songs Freyga can call upon to warm a fellow’s ears, the youngest is her own. She sings it alone to herself, strumming her harp, eyes closed, rocking with the rhythm of her word-waves. It begins now, dreamed of but unwritten, recorded only by the mindful repetition of words that pop like pollen from a fresh bloom. It ends when she ends and will leave to others the tale of its telling.

 

I, hope-hearted,

Wandering, wayfarer,

Day XXVIII continued — A long way round
We stood and looked down at the chasm below;
Most of the dwarves were in tears.
They couldn’t believe that something had sundered
The bridge that had stood here for years
‘Let’s hope we’re not trapped here,’ Kandral said,
‘That rope bridge our weight must bear.’
He was the first to step back from the bridge,
Running a hand through his hair.

Day XXIII - At the Crossroads