Battle

Grinding bones

in crunching fists

that reach out from

bone white mist

Copper taste

as sweet as mead

satiate the

jotun's needs

Fearful gasps

from mighty throats

tell of that

in bloody moat

Trophies mount

on bloodied gore

broken heroes mire

the frozen floor

Steel and bone

are as one

twisted in

the morning sun

A feast for

rats that cannot sleep

churned up flesh

that crows can keep.