The Clacuwist -- The Battle of the Wist

Tales of Wihtlore: Folklore and Stories from a sacred isle

Born of fire, these fatherless fraternal two of Niht
From the day they first breathed this darkened air
Conflict was their nature as it was built
betwixt their bones; siblings and rivals.

Like whisps of smoke sailing into the night,

The brother of the sister floats forever on,

He brings that waking dream, Nobleman of the Wist,

And known to ethereal edgelands as Wūscfrēa.

Sister to her brother thy name is Nihtgena,

Silently stalking, slithering soundless,

Through the darkness in search of those who

In the midst of slumber accept her unwelcome touch.

O how their mother morns more sorrowfully,

That melancholic ache of watching such siblings

as these never reconciled because of the divine will of nature;

of this, the unbreakable bindings of the inclination of twins.

As light grew short and the shadows grew long,

Those days where the shining splendour of Sigel

Flickers and wains, for soon she will ride the edges of night.

The before winter had started and Nihtgena plotted.

This sorceress of putrid dreams, the things that leave us forlorn

And when we wake we tell ourselves they are nothing more

Than conjurings, but our souls know otherwise; though we try to ignore,

Within and without we wonder, is this an omen of dread?

“I tire of this chase that my brother gives to me,

Always over my shoulder does he watch, unpicking at my work.

Now is the time when those things of darkness wake..

And for the unwaking would to come. O the workings I will work!”

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