Landsbyen -Into the North- An Epic Poem 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Into the dark he stepped, the frozen flakes falling 'round him The last vestige of humanity, now, lost in the storm's wailing din The only light to guide him, the glow of the snow, soft and dim All of his pain and the curse he lived, hidden away deep within ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He pulled his mittens tight against chilled fingers. The cold, like the breath of a long deceased specter, seeping slowly beneath his layered capes and clothing, stealing from him the warmth of his weary body. He did not fear the cold, he might even welcome the gentle embrace of the Reaper as it carried his lifeless body into the nether world; nor, did he fear the trolls and elves and dwarfs that were rumored to roam this desolate, frozen wasteland, far beyond where the trees refused to grow. He cursed the wind as it blew full in his face, freezing a small dribble of spittle that dripped through his numbed lips. Bending his head against the blow, he felt pain when a small patch of skin tore from his lower lip as he gasped, open mouthed, trying to breathe. Through the gray of the night he looked for shelter but saw none. The winter sky on December days offered no sunlight this far north. Even so, the winter storm would surely have swallowed the silvery beams long before they reached the earth. His bright auburn hair, not quite brown but not quite red, was cut short beneath the hood that he wore upon his head. His face full of weeks old red stubble ached from the biting cold. As he slowly trudged along he made a solemn promise to himself, “This will never happen again. My beard shall grow long and my hair to my shoulders, from now until the day that I am gone.” Thoughts of the creatures that existed in this world entered his mind as he sought solace from the never ending night. As a child he heard all of the tales of man eating trolls hunting the twilight. The dwarfs, so devious, as to steal your last morsel, while you lie dying, half covered in ice, and worst of all, the elves. Creatures of magic that could conjure great feats. Magic that could heal the sick and make the crops grow, magic that could create wonder and laughter, and it was said, could even stop the wind and dry the morning dew. They never used their power to help any one he knew. He learned as a child that none of this was true, just creatures of legend used to frighten young children when their mischievous nature led them astray and caused them to do things they shouldn't do. There were other fairy creatures made legend in these tales, but none so infamous as these, yet he found them hard to believe.