(A mournful Nordic folk ballad – slow drum and bowed lyre) In iron woods where moonlight breaks, Where frost lies white on pine and lake, A great wolf walks with silent tread— The world still trembles at the name they dread. Fenrir. Born of fire, fang, and frozen fate, Judged a monster long before he ate. The gods looked down with fearful eyes And saw their own doom wearing his disguise. Wolves are wolves beneath the snow, They hunt when hunger bids them go. They bare their fangs, they guard their own, And answer blood and winter’s moan. He never learned the gentle hand, The farmer’s hearth, the fenced-in land. No child to scratch behind his ears, No trust to soften ancient fears. The gods approached with smiles thin, Cold chains concealed beneath their skin. “Come test your strength, O mighty one,” While measuring his neck for length. Every cord they cast, he broke, Only proved the fear they spoke. Till dwarven craft of silk and lies— Mountain roots and maiden cries— Gleipnir. Soft as a newborn’s silken breath, Yet strong enough to bind cold death. When wisdom dawned within his eyes, He read the terror in their lies. “Who trusts in bonds so soft and fair? One of you must prove you dare.” Only Tyr stepped forth to pay, His right hand given, torn away. So Fenrir howled beneath the sky, Not wishing all the gods to die, But howling for the burning sting Of trust betrayed by everything. Chorus: Oh Fenrir, great shadow wolf, Child of the cold wild earth itself, Not evil born, nor cruel by choice— Just hunger, instinct, tooth, and voice. Yet still you watch where campfires gleam, Where children laugh and old dogs dream. Guardian hidden beyond the light, Lone wolf walking through the night. Now in Midgard’s midnight hours, Beyond the walls and watchman towers, Fenrir wanders field and fen, Listening close to the hearts of men. He sees the old hound stiff with age, Still guarding porch and pasture gate. He sees the stray with hollow flanks, And lonely children offering thanks. He watches hunters curse and shout, Beaten curs thrown broken out. When angry hands are raised in rage, The great wolf turns another page. For every dog beside mankind Still carries echoes of his kind— The loyal eyes, the lifted nose, The ancient pact the campfire knows. A wolf once crept from winter black And never truly wandered back. Now by mankind’s warm fireside, Fenrir’s blood still walks beside. So when your old dog stares at night, Past the edge of lantern light, Perhaps he sees through drifting snow The giant wolf still pacing slow. Not seeking doom. Not seeking war. Only guarding hearths once more. And when at last the world grows dim, And stars go cold at twilight’s rim, Perhaps the jaws the prophets dread Will merely close on fear instead. Final Chorus: Oh Fenrir, chained beneath the stone, The most feared are left alone. Yet every wolf and faithful hound Still hears your ancient, mournful sound. And in the bond of beast and man, There lives the hope that hatred can Yield one night to understanding… Before the last stars leave their landing
