high in the hills I heard the hunt riding

high in the hills in the dark and cold

frost and black iron the breath of the hounds

high in the hills before dawn

wind in the trees with the dayrise is blowing

wind in the trees winter sleeping

grey and blood-crimson the garb of the hunters

wind in the trees and their hair

high in the hills I heard the hunt riding

high in the hills in the dark and cold

hoarfrost and silver the hides of the horses

high in the hills before dawn

wind in the skies with the sun’s voice is calling

wind and the stars growing wan

light finds the shadows and shades of night fading

they vanish to fog and are gone

 

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