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Beginnings
He is fire
and ice
and the hunger that stretches between them:
the yawning, gaping, ravenous chasm of the gap.
Suckled on its power
He rose up out of time
Slayer of His ancestors:
Weaver of worlds
from the viscera of their passing.
No master of civilization He
but a Prince of the untamed lands,
crackling with rage
driven by fire
as from fire He was born.
His wyrd had not seized Him yet,
only the hunger:
to move, to do, to devour, to create.
to indulge in devastation.
Three Brothers stood amidst Their grandfather’s
corpse.
One held fire, the Second held ice
and the Third seized the silence stretching between them.
They saw – not that it was good
(good and evil have no meaning in this place)—
They saw potential;
and craft was born
from the slaughter of that ancient indolence.
Hail to Fire.
Hail to Ice,
and all that stands between Them.
Three ancient Brothers
learned these secrets first
and unleashed
Their hungers
upon the Worlds,
as the worlds They formed
for the future.
Odin, Hoenir, Lodhur:
They are unyielding,
Savage;
They are Holy.
© Galina Krasskova