11 October 2012
(For those who care, this is a continuation of Vengeance!, Shipwright's Labor, and Retribution, posted about 25 days ago.)
Bone white: The water worn pebbles where our warship sleeps. The creeping fog, down from the forest retreats. The skull of my son, ivory smooth and sun bleached.
Empty sockets: The wood carved eyes of our dragon head prow. The relentless gaze from beneath my son's brow. My sleepless red stare as I'm wondering how
We can possibly make this all good, Justify this fine crafted wood. I never wanted to be a king, To be the hero of whom we sing. I was only driven to avenge my boy And defend our shores. I never took joy In the odor of warm and sticky blood That pooled in their halls in that gruesome flood.
But in front of me crouches our eager ship With only one journey yet birthed from her hips, Just waiting for oars to call her to dance, To leap across waves, to take a bold chance.
Our neighbors are asking if we can join forces To increase our power by pooling resources. We all had been victims of that foul marauder We slew in the night after crossing the water.
But we are just farming and fishermen folk. My son lost his life defending our goats. I have no stomach for carrying swords Against other peasants obeying their lords.
So now I must ask: Thor, what shall we do? Shall I reassemble our warfaring crew? Off in the depths of the pre-dawn gloom, I'm answered by rumbling, thundering boom.
Aftermath • Opuss № I