His memories returned slowly,
Deader than he had been,
But defining in the fog of his mind.
Thoromir, his name. throrheim, his place.
His enemy's name glamr, the high one.
He had taken them so to the south of vinland,
He had condemned them,
Only to be able to add some lines
In his declamation in the thing.
Before resting,
Before looking for his own tomb,
He would look for glamr and he would break it.
He would twist his neck,
He would pull up the meat of his column,
He would dismember it and he would devour it.
The warm seas had already been behind,
And behind them had been the cadavers
Of the sailors of every ship
That he had crossed with his drakkar-wolf
The infamous provisions that he had stored
Shrank day by day.
He adjured the waters, the winds, the clouds
So that they dragged it more swiftly
To the gelid north,
Toward the snow, toward the long nights.
He threw all the rotten leftovers,
And he dove in them.
The sharks wanted to add it to their meal,
But he took the form the ocean snake,
The form of iomungandar,
And too much late the sharks repaired
In that was an undead.
Thoromir incrusted his drakkar
Against the rocks of the coast
On earth only traveled at night,
Razing,
Looking for glamr,
Calling him loudly for his name.
A shepherd
In a valley,
Admitted him
That glamr had returned from vinland,
But that he had died from fevers.