[center][h2]Chailiss Week[/h2]

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[i]These are the dark days of winter
dismal dull dawn becomes dreary dusk
then darkness
and yet another sunless daybreak.
 
A few sullen lonely snowflakes
waft on frigid breeze
reluctantly falling to sodden soil.
 
This existence leaves an aching
in one’s spirit
a taste in one’s soul
like cold ashes of the dead.
 
These are the dim days of the season
the gloomy season of the year
a shadowy year of life.

So all be ware of winter’s might
lest you feel its frigid bite
and know the daggers of ice -
come for all who heed not his advice.

He stalks the season, stalks our dens
stalking our kits and stalking our kin -
casting a spell of cold upon all us.

Yet even he, so frigid and cold
would save us from beasts of green
and avenge kits yet lost
by the green murder’s hunt.

For even the wolves and bears must retire
as the frost come hither and desire
her pelt, her fangs, her time of hunt. 

Her waters chill to ice
And her breath now shown in air -
we see her the green murder there
so that we may flee from her own snare.

It was then we knew and felt his grace
to save us - our salvation
and let his breath sweep all the land.

Now know his touch, his cold embrace
know his love and snowy dance
as frost and ice come out and play -
The Northern Lord is here to stay.
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[hider=Summary]
A poem from the Bjorks about Chailiss saving them from Phelenia and her flood.
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