The Rise Of The Unresting One
Sand, burning his eyes,
Wet stones, pressing his arms.
Convulsions from the slime released him,
The draugr was back to life.
He left the mound
they hadn't dig
a barrow for him. Rage
gained ground in his dead brain.
A few steps away from his grave
a sword driven into another barrow,
a rusty helmet hanging from its handle.
Two times five barrows.
He was not the only one who'd fallen,
but the only one who couldn't rest.
Didn't remember his name,
ruled by the hunger of the draugr.
He barely remembered the battle,
a remote, muffled, iron scream
reached him from-his-memories which
didn't seem to have revived as well.
He wondered ¿could he return
to his fiord, his home, his land
The fog in his mind cleared
every now and then.
A wanderer mind...
The draugr didn't know his name,
only longed to rest in peace.
Hunger blinded him again.
A close roar.
The draugr hurried up
following his insane impulse.
Seals!
He pounced over one of them
and before devouring it, he broke all its bones.
His hands were brutal.
The seal appeared to him just like a bite.
He felt massive, enourmous,
like a carnivorous ox.
He would return to rest in his homeland
even if the journey took him a hundred years.
El Ascenso del Incansable
Arena, quemando sus ojos,
Rocas mojadas, presionando sus brazos.
Convulsiones liberadas del fango,
El draugr volvía a la vida.
Salió del túmulo
que no habían cavado
una tumba para él. La rabia
ganaba terreno en su cerebro muerto.
A unos pasos de su tumba
una espada clavada en otro túmulo,
un casco oxidado colgando de su mango.
Dos veces cinco túmulos.
No era el único que había caído,
pero el único que no podía descansar.
No recordaba su nombre,
gobernado por el hambre del draugr.
Apenas recordaba la batalla,
un grito de hierro remoto, amortiguado
llegaba desde sus recuerdos que
parecían no haber revivido también.
Se preguntaba ¿podría regresar
a su fiordo, su hogar, su tierra?
La niebla en su mente se despejaba
de vez en cuando.
Una mente errante...
El draugr no conocía su nombre,
solo ansiaba descansar en paz.
El hambre lo cegaba de nuevo.
Un rugido cercano.
El draugr se apresuró
siguiendo su impulso insano.
¡Focas!
Se abalanzó sobre una de ellas
y antes de devorarla, rompió todos sus huesos.
Sus manos eran brutales.
La foca le parecía solo un bocado.
Se sentía masivo, enorme,
como un buey carnívoro.
Regresaría a descansar en su tierra natal
aunque el viaje le llevara cien años.