Even the most loyal narrator must at times watch the mirror for an
outbreak of emotive inspiration. Here's what I saw in mine...


I, a Horkval, fully clad
From head to foot in bony skin,
Armor from which I can not escape,
A dike to keep the floods within.
Safe am I from blade and club
From scratch or bruise or flying stone,
Safe are you from childish tears,
Pride and folly, the griping groan.
Had I wings to soar away
I'd leave my pains upon the ground.
Before your feet I'd offer all
Burnt in umbrage each gaping wound.
Had I fur or playful tail
I'd gambol 'round with twined string
And cast aside with whiskered grin
Each and every troubling thing.
Had I horns and cloven hoof
I'd drown my sorrows in a glass,
Take up merry pipe and play
And lure to bed a comely lass.
Had I a beard and minor stature
Gruffly I'd resist such ills,
Pound upon the forging anvil
Tempered with an iron will.
Deep inside my corporeal castle
Passions do daily ferment,
Steeped in dreams by darkness blinded
Shackled in a still torment.


Penned by my hand on the 21st of Glacian, in the year 395 AF.