Not friend nor foe, but a welcome haunting soul,
Glow of a wolf, eyes of burning coal,
From the vast southern highlands, wise under shade,
Scarlet blood he will spill, from the length of his blade,
If met with an enemy, inept for him,
Cut the foul flesh from his rival, limb per limb,
Fierce one may say, but this is his nature,
Fear not, for he is a rather mild creature,
Under his ill shell, hides a savior,
Who in this pilgrimage is our warrior,
Long locks of auburn gold, flying in the icy breeze,
His canny loom is to keep your mind at ease,
His vestal wear, adorned with a boar,
Shines under the sun, precious as an oar,
It is hard to tell what shall happen next,
With our new friend tangled in this odd mess.
