Tide current pulled the good ship to the river flow and into the fjord. Its oak was silent—no sail to test the decking. Current borne and steady.
Furs around the king, shield and braided beard. The good sword gripped to his royal chest. Flames at his feet.
Ancient rites of fire and water, blood, air and steel. A dwindling glow between sea and sky. Inferno to watery grave.
Ululating folk, torch-bearing and bonfire-warmed, saw the ship into the night. Each a twinkling to the other.
Even as one lost sight, each knew the other was still there.
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