The Brave Boy and the Beast of the Berg

In the dawning of days, in the dale of the Deer,

Dwelt a youth of great yearning, Wigmar his name.

He lived in the lowlands, where the linden trees leap,

With a hound of high heart, honest and brave.

Barnaby the Bold, the best of all beasts,

Was the comrade of Wigmar, his comfort and kin.

They played in the pastures, they paced by the pond,

Until shadow-shapes shifted and Shuck-Beast appeared.

From the mist-muffled mountain, a monster came down,

With claws like cold iron and eyes of an ember.

It snatched up the spaniel, the small-hearted friend,

And fled to the fells while the folk were asleep.

Wigmar awoke to the wailing of wind,

Found the kennel was cold, the collar was cast.

A trail of Great Tracks led to towering peaks,

And the heart of the hero was heavy with hurt.

He sought out the Senior, the Sage of the Sward,

Old Hrothmund the Hearty, a hero of yore.

Who sat by his hearth-fire, his helmet now hung,

His battle-days finished, his fame widely felt.

'O Master of Might,' the young man did moan,

'The Beast of the Berg has borrowed my boy!

I follow the footsteps to find my fair friend,

But I have no hammer, no hardened-steel blade.'

The Elder looked up, his eyes full of ash,

He reached for a relic, a rich-hilted sword.

'Take Sun-Slicer, Son! It is seasoned in light,

Imbued with the power to banish the black.

It glows in the gloom when the godless are near,

And bites into bone that is built out of spite.

Go through the Green-Wood, where ghosts often glide,

And find the high fastness where Fear makes its home.'

With Sun-Slicer slung, the seeker set out,

He entered the Elm-Woods, the eerie and old.

There blocked by a bridge was a brawny-backed Troll,

With skin like the shale and a snout like a stump.

'No passage for pilgrims!' the Pale-One did pipe,

'Unless you can answer the Ask of the Ages.

What runs without legs, and whispers without lips,

And swallows the stars when the sun goes to sleep?'

Wigmar did wait, then he wisely did speak:

'The Night is the answer, it nibbles the light!'

The Troll gave a tumble, he turned to a stone,

And Wigmar walked onward, his will like a wall.

Then came a soft singing, a sweet-sounding strain,

A Fairy of Flowers with feathers of gold.

She danced in the dingle, she dazzled his eyes,

'Come rest in the roses, the road is too rough!

Forget the small dog and the dark of the den,

Here honey is heavy and hearts are at ease.'

But Sun-Slicer sparkled, it scorched through the spell,

Wigmar remembered his mate in the mountain.

He plugged up his ears with the petals of pine,

And marched past the Maiden who mocked at his march.

He climbed the Cold-Crag, the crest of the world,

Where the cave of the Creature was carved in the cliff.

Inside was the Igor, the Iron-Clawed Imp,

Holding Barnaby fast in a fence-work of frost.

'Give back my Barnaby!' the Boy-Hero bellowed,

Drawing his blade which blazed like a beacon.

The Monster did mutter, a moan from its maw,

And lunged with a lash of its long-reaching limbs.

They battled in burning, the blade against bone,

The sparks flew like spirits in space of the stone.

With a thrust of the Truth-Steel, the Terror was tamed,

Wigmar stood victor, the Villain was vanquished.

He gathered the Golden-Dog, glad of the gain,

And turned to the trail to return to his town.

But then through the thistles, a thrumming arose,

A sound of a sob, a sorrowful sigh.

The Monster was moaning, it moped in the mud,

Not angry or awful, but aching and alone.

Then light filled the cavern, a Lord of the Lost,

The God of the Grays, the Ghost of the Gloom.

'Look well on the Wild-One,' the Wanderer spoke,

'You have a home-fire, a hearth and a herd.

But this one is Friendless, a Freak in the Forest,

Feared by the folk for his face and his form.

Your dog was his darling, his double in spirit,

Two beasts of a burden, two brothers of bark.'

Wigmar looked down at his dog in his arms,

And Barnaby bounded, he barked at the Beast.

He licked at the lout with a loving-long tongue,

And the Monster did smile like a moon through the mist.

Wigmar saw wisdom, he weighed out his heart,

He knew that the Knave was a Knight of the Night.

'Keep the dog, Kind-One,' the Kid-Hero cried,

'For Barnaby loves you, and loneness is low.

I shall visit the valley and visit the peak,

And bring you the bread and the beef of the town.'

He returned to his village, he revealed the real tale,

That the Beast was a Brother, a Buddy of Blue.

No longer did lasses or lads look with loathing,

They brought out the baskets of berries and beer.

The Monster moved down to the middle of Meadows,

And Barnaby bounced between Boy and the Brute.

So peace was preserved in the province of Pines,

And the Hero and Hound lived in happiness high.