Sea
The wanderer awakes, fateless and unwritten, on unfamiliar, barren shores -- a land not living. Chaos overwhelms him, and he finds no peace. He is rootless, wavering and insecure. Following the River Gjoll away from the sea, he wanders until he encounters Hel, only to be turned back to seek his identity.
Conscious but not awake. No company on cold shores.
Mad Huginn screams. Hel’s clamor.
No vindication finds me from valiant effort.
Must I defer to doom and despair?
Written in Fornydislag, a common narrative meter in Old Norse poetry
I pace Gjoll’s shores, giving comfort none.
Warmth I do not offer, and no welcome I receive.
Ymir’s lashes unknown, indifferent to my unease.
Mundilfari’s scions offer no sympathy.
Three days I walked along.
Wandered endlessly the borders of Njordr’s mighty realm.
Loki’s daughter merciless stood, prophesied end.
Yet, I was unready.