Begin the Battle At Last
Fly ho the great current-rider as he gives chase to the foe.
Swifter then the wind, no mere child of the earth can out run the sky-steward
But Grendal the fox, shifty cousin of the wolf, he was no mere being.
The clawed-jester, the red-ghost, he was more then a match for even mighty Beobird.
But Beobird never breaks the bonds of his boast.
Conqueror of the insects of Geats, champion among the trees of York, and true cat-slayer of the Swiss, what Beobird says he holds true.
In truth, the chase sped swift excitement for the speedy sparrow spirits.
Amongst the trees kingdom, Beobird and men of the two-walkers cornered the crimson master-tracker in front the great rock-mouth of which he dwells.
“For too long the battles have raged as we continued to live” shirked the shrill, shabbiness squawker, “before our time your fore father fought the fore fathers of mine, and before we could fly and bite we fought’
‘You, great demon of many forms, you who have no qualm to the despair of your tricks, is it not you who have struck and stumbled the sacred duties of my lineage?’
‘Oh woe to those who groan with the pain you have birthed from your actions
‘By your hands has the highest of messengers, my fore father Birkim of the wings, he failed his greatest of task which brought forth his despair.
My fore brothers of the North, the great forest-riders Dardiams; by your trickery they to became weary with the disruptions of their duties.
And even my father, hail to the mighty Ealgareon, who be praise has not once failed a duty of his destiny, for had it not been for his prominence he to would have failed.
‘Yet now shall the salvation of your salvaged defeat. I who have ridden the currents of the east, to have become lord among pigeons and doves, the beholder of the talons and peck-master, let your claws fall to my claws”
Seven men strong struck at the furry shape of the shifter of forms.
Yet all swords that stuck merely stoke the strings of the breeze.
Below them bellowed the boasting gurgles of a black beetle, who at last glanced upon the black beetle bulged into a bulging lion, which bludgeon the heads of the brave seven.
For no mere means of slashes and thrust could harm the fox,
Before a forceful blow strikes the fox, the master-deceiver, his formed quickly changed.
But no matter of forms of a hundred could dampen the spirit of the triumphant-squawker.
So fair Beobird, watchful sparrow of the realm, called out to his men.
“Behold the deception of the faceless one, no weapon of just could harm the liar of all, so by your honor stand down this blight.”
“Be rightness to you” shout Vilgora captain of the guards and the sword of the hall, “no sword shall ever be laid to the ground, least we shed ourselves of the ways of men and be the lovers of the grave”.
“Hear well to me”, the fair Beobird says, “let it be said that if by the hands of the bloodshot swindler that death be upon you, then honor shall flee form you, such is the way of the fox of Grendal’
‘But I assure you that neither hall nor court shall let die the stories of those who survived, those that stood down by the order of I!”.
“Too boastful of words should ever come from the likes of feather”, cried the captains of captains, “Yet I to can’t say what to dispute you. By your words that I hold true, prove to us the greatness of the lord of messengers, Great Beobird”.
Then dive down, the wingtipped-weilder dove upon the eye, the feathered warrior clutch.
The dog of many faces screeched, reaching towards the clutch of the stubborn feather.
Before all, the shadow assumed many to released the claws in his eyes.
At once more returned the lion, clawing his face to be rid of the young sparrow, then came the bear strikeing as well.
The snake came spitting the venoms of his teeth, a many armed sea-man attacking with suctions to his face.
Come ho a stinger of a scorpion strikeing the sides of his face, then yet also a great falcon, who is by far fair cousin of Beobird, strike to the one who pecks the eye.
Yet Beobird hold long to the face, the pecker pecking his piping his boast to all.
Though battered and beaten, broken throughout the body, no form of any beast could shake off the bird above all birds.
Until at last with a cry a crimson fountain let loosed, the red fox return splashed in the color of red.
At once he fled, the uncatchable one at last defeated. His time he knew has been over.
In rage and despair he gurgled his defiance, the breath red with the invited of deaths breeze to lull to sleep.
And Beobird, the great sparrow, the great humbled nature to be rewarded with edible gold a plenty, chirped the eye out with great relief.