Taranis Stormborne.
A poem from the Stormborne Scrolls
Beneath the hollow tree he bled,
With wolves for kin and stone for bed.
The fire was not in hearth or hand
It roared within, a storm unmanned.
He trained where no man dared to tread
On roots of yew and rivers red.
His blade was bone, his shield was will,
His foes were silence, hunger, chill.
Each sunrise found his form anew,
A breath of frost, a bruise of blue.
He carved his strength on bark and skin,
And learned the rage that sleeps within.
He watched the hawk, he stalked the deer.
He danced with ghosts that others fear.
His feet grew swift, his arms like oak,
His breath break a hunter’s yoke.
No tribe remained to call him son,
No elder crowned what he’d become.
Yet mountains bowed, and storms would still .
For he had shaped the world by will.
The wolves ran wide, the skies grew torn.
And from the storm, the blade was born.
A boy no more. No child of scorn.
By fire and shadow…
The warrior was born.
Thank you for reading.
© 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.
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If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded
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