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The Ramshaven Sheep Raid

Come Mere-Dwellers to catch chronicled

the strange account of our sheep raiding.

Such was the morn, the sun’s delight,

that we, sword-men, weapons gleaming,

sought some pursuit to spend the day.

Heroes’ leisure was longed for then.

Mead and feasting soon meant nothing.

Names were not forged for feeding girths,

nor skops’ praises summoned for sloth.

Bravest exploits earned those rewards.

So Baethun, bold Long-Runner,

green companion, greeted his Thane:

Vali the Black, brave blade-brother.

“Day’s gleam is wasted with deeds waiting

so linger not, Lord of the Rams.

Collect your tithes and claim your taxes

from rogue herd-men hiding your due.

Lambs they owe you but they lack payment.

Suffer no shame from sheep watchers

who, lacking titles, laugh at your laws.”

Hearing such words, the wise ruler

found his speaking full with the truth.

He gave consent and summoned companions,

Ordering Baethun, bright thought-shaper,

To plan their march. Grimaldi of the North,

Cynred’s song-smith, did claim a place

in Vali’s raiding, lordly bear’s man.

Then D’Arnot’s son sent for Gwerydd,

scop of the West, and woman Cymric,

to keep record and recall their courage.

They gathered blades, great anvil-born,

and shining mail, scales of iron.

Shields and helmets, soldier’s attire

were fitted well. Furnished for war,

the rime raiders with raiment bright

began their quest: granting justice

to roguish churls. Charged with fervour,

they made their way oe’r wide domains

until foothills finished their march.

The high mountains held before them,

barring passage with peaks of stone.

Heavy were their hearts at having rocks

delay reprisal. Lengthening shade

recalled their time, as thought Vali

under the crest--- courage called him

to carry on. The cliff conqueror,

rich in courage, climbed o’er the rocks.

His strength was great, gallant wolf-friend.

Baethun, next, was beckoned then

by Thane’s glory. Going behind,

he followed fast fighting the stones

dislodged by his lord, Vali of the Axe.

Grimaldi rose, met the challenge,

and Gwerydd climbed, clumsy her garb

when fighting mountains. She fell often

until the Thane, towering lord,

held out his axe, haft towards her,

so she might grasp the strong handle

and be helped upwards over the edge.

Deadly the axe, when drawn ‘gainst foes,

but better spent to save hearth-friends.

The raiders went on. They roamed the land

by Baethun’s busy guidance.

Hours they spent searching meadows.

They found little, farmsteads empty

of sheep still owed. Only cattle

grazed the lowlands but Vali ordered:

“Touch no livestock lacking the sheep.

Bandits and thieves take anything

while we are lords. Lambs are our due,

and wool-bearers, while bulls are loot

not properly ours. Pilfer no kine!”

Then Baethun brought his report.

Bitter it was; though broad the land

no sheep were found. Following words

that Vali spoke, they spared cattle

and returned to their hearths heavy in spirit.



As night’s shadow stole o’er Heaven

the ring-giver gathered his skops.

“Let failure be fast forgotten

in song’s glory. Sooth their sorrow

with chosen words wrought in thought’s drink.”

A fire was built; beer set flowing

and foamy mead filled ev’ry cup.

Skops shared word hordes and soldiers brave

showed their talent with tales of war.

Then, the young ones, tired with the hours,

sought to return to stark dwellings. stead

Kolbjorn stood, skilled ram-fighter,

and drew his axe. He offered his aid

to guard children against all threats.

The bear-sworn rose, his blade to add.

Gwerydd joined them, judging her words

spent for the night. The stars were bright

lighting their way, lanterns holy.

Much they marvelled at the mirrors of God

that guided them soundly, the sailors’ map.

They brought their charges from bandits guarded

then found the fire earlier left.

Legend-telling and long epics

filled the circle but cattle-sounds

drowned their stories. His shame recalled,

Baethun cried: “Brave warriors,

we hear legends and loud praises

for courage and strength, but children-guards

have we become, warr’ors for babes,

while shepherds foil us, steal from our Thane.”

Then shame stung them and their spirits fell.

Kolbjorn growled, growing angry:

“Let us find them, and finish the deed!”

Grimaldi stood and moved forward.

“I go with you,” Gwerydd shouted

but the Ram Lord said: “Raiding is good,

worthy of rings, but women sleep.

I shall shield them and stay the night.”

The wolf-feeders stood, waiting no more

and left their Thane on long journey.



The sun’s sister spread her gleaming,

lighting the way for the warrior band.

Fast they travelled finding the fields

cloaked by shadows. The scop-bane spoke:

“No scoundrel I, sneaking in gloom.

Silence is the mask made for outlaws.”

He took his mug, the mead vessel,

and tossed it forth. Finding the trees,

it shattered apart. Their presence known,

they voiced challenge. “Come, you peasants,

we number few but nevertheless,

shall deal justice.” The darkness was still,

no answer came. The company lingered

in hopes of response but held for naught;

the sheep were gone, stolen by churls.

Vali’s orders still owned the band

so Cynred’s man, clever oath-bound,

noticed the fields filled with harvest.

Grimaldi spoke to share musings:

“The tax remains but mutton are gone

and cattle banned. Bold perseverance

shall win plunder: the wheat and grain.

Those thriving crops shall exchange payment.”

The group agreed and gathered quickly

the farmer’s fruits. The furtive wolf-friends

carted their load on looted wains.

Great was their joy at gaining spoils

to placate the Thane and tribute secure.

The wolf-coated, wagon-bearing,

silently went. The sea of beasts

they marked with tracks while the merry Cymric

lit their pathway with lantern bright.

The mountains bowed in obeisance to them.

The slope seaweed, sighing in praise,

sheltered the band. The storm’s housing

was lined with clouds: lordly pennants

that proclaimed triumph of the courage-filled.

War-spoils were brought to the wealth-giver.

To honour the deeds of heroes present,

a mighty blaze, bane of forests,

was set burning to banish shade.

Great was the light, gorged on timber,

that bantams thought the beacon of God

had risen early and roosters crowed

in strident chorus to celebrate

the morning’s birth, break of the day.

Such was the reward of wolf-named victors,

and grim ram-friends grown rich with grain.

Thus soldiers were praised, proud shield-holders,

and fortune won by wolf-warriors.