As the Storm raged and the gods drank above

The waves crashed, and clawed, and climbed up the shores

the wooden ships creaked, and the rolled sails flapped

​

The villagers were huddled in their huts,

enjoying the warm embrace of the fire

as the fathers told stories to their kin.

​

But in one it was quiet, deathly so

Clan Ulfhild should have been celebrating

The first kin, silent, small and fragile

​

The newborn mother cried in grief and pain

The father shouted in anger and rage

the nursemaid, offered sincerities

​

But one voice stood out, but was not the three

“head out and pray, the Gods may yet help you!”

the loud voice called over the storm outside

The husband reached to take the brown-haired boy

And the mother, still sore, gave him away,

the father left the safety of the hut,

​

traveling to the shrine of the Storm Gods

Keeping wet and cold away from his son

wrapped in fur, silent like: eye of the storm

​

reaching the destination, what path would

 the gods choose? would it be life or be death.

“Mighty God of thunder, I plead to you!”

The storm raged and wind blasted his hood off

As thunder crackled and swirled under the clouds

Two heads emerged and floated to the ground

​

pulling lightning behind them only when

 they were close did Botulf notice the clouds

 take the forms of Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, and

​

the lightning a chariot that carried

Thor. “You summon me Clansman, to what end?”

Thor questioned, his mighty voice challenging

thunder and lightning for supremacy

​

“Please strengthen my first-born heir, let him live!”

Botulf pleaded as he looked to the god,

before suddenly finding himself back

​

stepping as the God attempted to rip

the child from his arms. “you brave this storm, and"

"me perhaps you are foolish?” Thor stated

​

 is voice booming as if it was thunder

itself. Botulf kept quiet pulling the

 loose furs tight. “I do not wish to challenge

​

 you mighty god, but I ask you promise

my child strength to live, before I give him.”

“You have my word Botulf, of clan Ulfhild,

 Your child will have the strength of one of my

steeds, but you must choose which one i will bleed?”

“Clan Ulfhild is not afraid to bear teeth.”

Botulf proclaimed, making Thor smile as he

took knife from his belt and slit Tanngrisnir’s

​

throat, causing a sea of red to flood a

goblet that appeared suddenly in thor's

hand. Thor raised his hammer, and healed his goat

​

before returning to Botulf and poured

little by little into the child’s mouth,

until at last the baby boy cried, his

​

voice echoing in the rain, like the waves that

 splashed on the rocks below. “You will name him

 Revnar, after my father.” Thor proclaimed,

​

as he mounted this chariot, and was

carried by lightning to the clouds once more.

Botulf agreed with silence, and began

to trudge through the rain, as his own furs drank

in the droplets of water, that pelted

​

him as he marched returned to the village.

Revnar’s cries were louder than barraging

thunder, causing faces to peak out to

​

spot the new father and child as they returned

home entering the wooden hut, Botulf

surrendered Revnar to the nursemaid

​

and removed his furs before returning

 to his child and wife, to find that his sons

 hair was now white as ash and soft as fleece.