The Raid of the Drakkar Wolf
His memories returned slowly,
Deader than he had been,
But defining in the fog of his mind.
Thoromir, his name. throrheim, his place.
His enemy's name glamr, the high one.
He had taken them so to the south of vinland,
He had condemned them,
Only to be able to add some lines
In his declamation in the thing.
Before resting,
Before looking for his own tomb,
He would look for glamr and he would break it.
He would twist his neck,
He would pull up the meat of his column,
He would dismember it and he would devour it.
The warm seas had already been behind,
And behind them had been the cadavers
Of the sailors of every ship
That he had crossed with his drakkar-wolf
The infamous provisions that he had stored
Shrank day by day.
He adjured the waters, the winds, the clouds
So that they dragged it more swiftly
To the gelid north,
Toward the snow, toward the long nights.
He threw all the rotten leftovers,
And he dove in them.
The sharks wanted to add it to their meal,
But he took the form the ocean snake,
The form of iomungandar,
And too much late the sharks repaired
In that was an undead.
Thoromir incrusted his drakkar
Against the rocks of the coast
On earth only traveled at night,
Razing,
Looking for glamr,
Calling him loudly for his name.
A shepherd
In a valley,
Admitted him
That glamr had returned from vinland,
But that he had died from fevers.
The draugr thoromir howled of hate.
El Asalto del Lobo Drakkar
Sus recuerdos regresaban lentamente,
Más muertos de lo que había sido,
Pero definitorios en la neblina de su mente.
Thoromir, su nombre. Throrheim, su lugar.
El nombre de su enemigo Glamr, el alto.
Los había llevado tan al sur de Vinlandia,
Los había condenado,
Solo para poder agregar algunas líneas
En su declaración en el thing.
Antes de descansar,
Antes de buscar su propia tumba,
Buscaría a Glamr y lo rompería.
Le torcería el cuello,
Arrancaría la carne de su columna,
Lo desmembraría y lo devoraría.
Los mares cálidos ya habían quedado atrás,
Y detrás de ellos habían quedado los cadáveres
De los marineros de cada barco
Que había cruzado con su drakkar-lobo
Las provisiones infames que había almacenado
Se reducían día a día.
Adjuraba a las aguas, a los vientos, a las nubes
Para que lo arrastraran más rápidamente
Hacia el norte gélido,
Hacia la nieve, hacia las largas noches.
Arrojaba todos los restos podridos,
Y se sumergía en ellos.
Los tiburones querían añadirlo a su comida,
Pero él tomaba la forma de la serpiente oceánica,
La forma de Iomungandar,
Y demasiado tarde los tiburones se daban cuenta
De que era un no muerto.
Thoromir incrustó su drakkar
Contra las rocas de la costa
En tierra solo viajaba de noche,
Arrasando,
Buscando a Glamr,
Llamándolo en voz alta por su nombre.
Un pastor
En un valle,
Le informó
Que Glamr había regresado de Vinlandia,
Pero que había muerto de fiebres.
El draugr Thoromir aullaba de odio.