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The Lonely Traveler
A poem in the Anglo-Saxon Style
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written by THL Caitlin Christiana Wintour
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The Cheviot cloud-trails
ring round the fog-shrouded valleys, and
lonely lanes weave round dark fells.
Criminals can be found here,
bringing blood and sorrow
to the unwary far from field and farm.
Yet worse things there are
then wild men in the howling hills.
From the granite ground grow the dark dwarves,
black of hair and heart,
earth-children with no love for men.
The God-praisers know the prayers
to drive the earth-dwellers down,
to exile them deep into the earth
and so their numbers dwindle.
But their hostile hearts are strong
and some still live and learn
to cast the unwary to their deaths,
to weave wickedness in the wild places.
Thus men will not willingly walk
the lonely paths of the high hills.
Fearless or foolish is he
Who does, walking wary the high ways.
Danger rises with the raising of the mists,
Deep-shrouded darkness
makes the lone traveler fiend-ship’s prey.
One night a young man, made unwise by wine,
made his lonely walk along the hill way.
The doom-mist deepened and
spectral light shone,
but no moon-lamp lit the shifting path.
Then young Selwyn saw a fire
burning bright through the fog
and grateful and glad, made his way to it
Another man sat there in stillness.
He was shorter then Selwyn by a head
but stouter by many more.
The stranger’s raven hair gleamed with gems
and his black beard was twisted with wealth-hoard,
and the fog forged strange shapes all about him.
Selwyn knew a dark dwarf and he near despaired.
Shocked from his drink, doomed was he
unless he remained silent and still
in the dwarf’s demesne,
unmoving and mute until the sun arose.
Food the earth-man offered
but his victim sat voiceless
and stared silently at man’s ancient enemy.
Riddles the dwarf riddled
and their keys the traveler kenned
but Selwyn steeled himself against the game
and would only watch.
Finally the dwarf in reddened rage
pointed to the pathway
and commanded the man to quit his fire.
And the traveler was tempted mightily
for it seemed that sure was his release.
Then Selwyn remembered the rays of the sun
had not yet pierced the vicious veil
and strong was the scourge of the dwarf’s temptations.
So he did not move and mute he sat.
At last the watery rays of dawn
pierced the pall of mist and the dwarf vanished,
the mage-light of his magicked fire slowly dying.
Selwyn stirred and cautiously crept
in the direction the dwarf had bade him take.
He quickly stopped, for the solid-seeming road of night
showed itself a sharp cliff-fall by day.
Under his boot the granite grumbled
and he stepped back onto solid mountain bones.
Turning, he praised the Protector of Travelers
and hurried home under the sun.
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