Auðumbla
In the beginning, there was
Neither grass nor growing things.
Only stillness found in Búri's heart.
Then ambling through the mists
Sweet Auðumbla pauses, licks
And what was once ice
Became fire once more.
- Hymns from the Well
Mimir’s Vígríðr
Mimir’s Vígríðr The heart is a fertile valley Besieged by the enemies of Frith. Oft’ the mind lays war-torn and Broken on these battlefields of desire. Each day we walk out our door Our Hamr must gear for war. Shall it fall to the death knells of fate Or slowly fade from a thousand blows of woe? Blighted trolls wait in the deep forest Woven from the threads of Nastrondr Like the mass of writhing snakes at the base of Yggdrasil There are too many foes to count. But the heart is a fertile valley Highly sought by the cold cruel beings of the realms: Where each of us must wage our war To survive or fall into desolate ruin. There are trolls who come up in the minds of men: Like snakes, they lash out and seek to pollute our thoughts; For the Mind is where all Sagas are wrought And each of us, the narrator therein. There are sirens that seek our fath in self And the feed off us while we stumble into cages. There are beings of despair who feed off hope Slowing our feet in the swamps of doubt. ...
