Of The Rage Of Skadi
She of the storm-sky sent down snow-squalls
Blowing down birches snuffing out hearth-fires.
Deep were the snow-drifts dour was the cold
and sharp the wind-bite throughout the northland.
Huddled under bearskins in our bedsteads,
shivered we sorely, sighing for mercy to Thor’s consort,
fearing the doom and death of our cattle
cold in their byre without water or fodder.
Four furious days, four angry nights
Raged the dire tempest until at the fifth dawn
Clouds cleared away and Sunna smiled down.