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About Hilde Alfborne

The Hagcursed Doom

South to the forest he rode,
to Grungir and the never-dark,
the raptor’s battle-dew, Sveinn,
to lay blood-seed in fertile fields.
beneath the ship of night anew,
the light-alf queen wandered shield-bereft,
so the ring-giver his gift bestowed,
on winter’s blanket cold.

To the court of never-dark
a thread-render appeared anew,
the raptor’s-seed that very morn,
her maiden’s-blood now introduced.
No bed-shame would she bear,
nor straw-death for her road to Hel,
no children of battle need she fear,
the shield of hags the ravens feed.

A virgin-blade, bow-lady fair,
with words of golden-waves we raise,
ever dry her noble-vault, despite
no bright-way every taken.
The Inheritor’s way she duly treads,
yet Forseti’s favored she truly be,
a river-bone in the weather of weapons,
cat-mannered in times of peace.

While she shall ride with hounds,
no were-gild will she ever pay,
through metal runs slaughter’s dew,
in tracks of steel she follows.
Her mother’s-kin of never-dark,
their lessons all well taught,
the snow-claws sense of safety,
a southrons sense of rage.

By changer-orb’s light,
liosalfar shines faerie-fire,
her crown of floss heaven’s-candle,
her war-mask ship-of-night silver.
Stone-cliffs the duty-of-squires,
with norn-gift as winter’s-spear,
the feast of crows draws nigh
upon tinder, blood-flames leap.

When weather turns to weapons
the never dark daughter
bears her name upon her lance
as the bough does gird the tree.
In time the acorn dost fall,
atop winter’s-bed, the toast of ravens,
a bed in summer spun thrice,
before sky’s black cloak donned.