High over heath and hill it hovers,
Hábrók, herald of the hidden hearts.
Ravens scatter, restless, when it rises,
Eyes like embers, endless, ever-watchful.
Wind whispers through wings wide and weathered,
Claws clutch the crags where cold clouds gather.
Feathers flicker, fire-flecked in fading light,
Foresight and flight fused in a feathered frame.
Over fjord and forest, far and fearful,
It circles the silent, shadowed valleys.
The wise watch its wandering, wary of what
It whispers to wolves and wayfarers alike.
Crow and corvid cower at its calling,
Yet kings and kin crave counsel from its keen sight.
Hábrók hovers, herald, hunter, heralding
Tales the tides of time will never forget.