Skald
The poet speaks. The court listens. The words are weighed.
In the mead halls of the North, the skald stood between the fire and the king.
The skald's weapon was language. Not plain language — kennings. Poetic compounds that turned the ordinary into the mythic. The sea was the whale-road. The sun was the sky-candle. A sword was the wound-hoe. Blood was battle-sweat.
Today's kenning awaits below. Tomorrow brings another. Submit your own — the best are added to the hall each week.
The challenge this week: what is the kenning for WiFi?
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The door is open. No gatekeepers. No auto-responders.
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Glory to God