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June 6, 2005

The Eschatologist: Halls of His Fathers

The seid broke, thought Old Järnsida. He coughed, spitting blood. The roaring in his head settled down, and awestruck by the lights in the sky. Could no one else see them? Fighting had subsided, and he could feel hands grabbing him. Leaning on his broken sword, he rose to his knees. His sons, Refil and Erik, were looking at him with pained tears on their faces. Laying him gently on his back, the howling of winter wolves filled his ears.

"The Einherjar wait," sang Skuld as she clasped him by the hand. Pointing her spear skyward, they leapt towards home.

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