He wore warm boots and cloak had many tattoos grouped around wherever his joints hurt to show where acupuncture should be done carried a complex firelighting kit containing many dried plants with flint and pyrtite to make sparks
Consider his hide quiver of arrows with dogwood shafts and an antler stub for sharpening arrow points a rare copper axe with a yew handle a stone bladed knife various berries for snacks, and two sorts of dried mushrooms strung with leather one of them is antibiotic
When he died he was carrying an unfinished yew Longbow taller than him with a bowstring and the tools to complete it
I’m very happy to announce that my poem, Wayland, is now published in the fourth issue of Ink Drinkers Magazine. The magazine was born in June 2020, when the editor found out that the term ‘ink drinker’ is the French version of ‘bookworm’ and thought ‘hey that could be a good name for a litmag’.
The issue can be downloaded (for free) here:
My poem is about the legend of Wayland the Smith — who is referenced in another poem of mine, Midsummer White, which can be read here on this blog:
We stumble along, believing we hold the map Believing we guide our path or someone does somewhere From the darkness to the light and back The bird flies through the drinking hall and is gone Leaving memories, echoes and silence All we are is memories and echoes All we can do is try to fracture the silence.