'Ask my father,' said she,' I'll lead the way.'
To her father's forge I went, where he beat iron with a steady hand.
'Do you ken Wolfrik Wolfeater?' I asked.
'Wolfrik Wolfeater who carried the day at Redgrass Field?' he asked from his work.
'Aye.'
'Who wreastled bears on Odi's Mountain?'
'Aye.'
Who seduced one hundred maids in but one moon?'
'Aye,the same.'
'Aye, I ken him, what man does not?'
'And is he at hand?'
'At hand? No, not for many winters. He dwells with King Erick, on Westdorn's Fyrd, where his hand never tires of his axe, and a woman-hoarde fills his bed.'
I went at once across the bitter blue sea, along the murder fishes way, beneath the thieving gull.
The heath fire and reed lights cast a mighty light upon the great strength of warriors who sat before a slaughter of boar, beef, and deer at King Erick's table.
Without pause, I made my way from the stout oaken door to the largest of men.
'Are you Wolfrik Wolfeater?' I asked.
'No,' he declared, 'I am Vali Small-Boast. Wolfrik dwells yonder- at King Erick's good right hand.'
I looked across the mighty length of timber where many warriors sat. I beheld the King, and I beheld his right hand.
A walrus man dwelt there.
His bulbus face red with drink. Dull eyes stared down a crooked nose. His filthy beard was home to countless scraps of food. The fire was extinguished from his hair,leaving only tangled grey.
Upon his epic belly, bone from his meals were piled. These bones he threw at passing thralls. He cackled- haglike- at this poor sport.
I had no further use for words that day.
I wrote my saga of Wolfrik Wofleater.
He fell bravely, where so many others fell, on Redgrass Field.
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