
Worn Hour of the Fey, Age of Heroes to Come, a Short Poem.
A mighty hand for a trying season. . .the great artificer has fashioned a weapon. The Wife of Truth have left all slaying men to their slumber, but in you — kindling-fires raise the wandering dead and echo praise-songs. Long dead has been the great wolf. Yet possessed are we with the thrum of frightening strength howling in all gods, champions of old. They who lost memory of gods and heroes and their dwellings, the hour of the fey are worn and are reborn as the spring. Face yourself! Turn into your flesh, and behold, terror! Bear witness, slain and foeman.

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