The Crimson One
In Bremenium, a cock crows,
On midsummer night,
Spears and shields together form,
Barrier between cold and missed Apennines,
Now facing feared terra,
Of mountain passes and hissed wind,
Which whispers the legion’s names.
The light of empire drew them far and wide,
But here only the crowns of Bernicia,
Glisten with silver, that leads soldiers,
Over peaty fields and heathered moor,
To where Cocidius appears,
The Crimson One,
Guardian of this place,
Of field and forest,
Vale and burn,
Of battle and the hunt.
Foes native and foreign,
When keener chance is found,
Approach the other to glean their gen,
And kneel at the tribal stone,
And raise cup in this locus,
In liminal glade,
To Coquet’s shield and blade.
By Luan Hanratty
