In the cold mountains of the northern lands,
lives a woman pale,
her face sickened with blood stained mouth,
her features all appear stale.
Forerunner to the banshee,
she soars over the battlefield,
exalting and venerating her allies,
profaning the rivals to yield.
proficient in speaking the corpse’s mouth,
inhabits the structures of beasts,
Never fighting the battle herself,
on the blood of the dead she feasts
.If not in the war,
she stands by the lake,
washing them blood bathed rags,
of soldiers, with life at stake
.scarcely a good omen she is,
a sucker of human breath,
harbinger of ruins she is,
a vicious harvester of death.