Words: Mikal Hrafspa (Mikal the Ram)
Notes from Mikal:
This was composed from a very old tale I found. Since the day I told it, I have heard other versions that must have come from the same root tale. The setting I use is Norway, about the year 800. For those of you who don't know what a Hersir is, shame on you! They are minor nobility and petty kings of Norway.
AT ONE TIME THERE WAS a Hersir who kept a longhouse filled with strong warriors and good treasure, and one would think he was happy with all that he had. But three things plagued him: The weather, the health of his men, and particularly his beautiful daughter, for she had a roving eye and a winsome smile.
One winter's day, the hersir stepped out of his longhouse to catch a breath of cold air. He stopped, pointed at the snow to the side of the doorway, and screamed loudly! His steersman ran to him. "What is wrong, my king?" he asked.
"Look at this!" the king cried. There in the snow beside the longhouse was the Hersir's daughter's name writ in a suspicious yellow liquid. The Hersir was beside himself in anger.
"Well now my king, " began the steersman, "Boys will be boys you know..."
"Yes," cried the king, "But don't you think I know my daughter's handwriting?"
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