“Fyjör looked then to and fro, but no threat him befell. No sight nor sound, no darken’d cloud, no deathly tolling bell—but bright sight before him beckoned still.

So bare-foot stepped, and flashed again, then rushing footwork fleeted. Before a warning crossed his heart, he crossed stoneyard and garden—til’ met fyren eyes of golden lion.

Wreathed ‘round the roots of ardent Yddren, the gold-wrought lion lay there guarding. Eyes like gems of fire flared from beast untiring, and Fyjör fearing beast alive, froze fast his steps for fear he could have died.”

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(from the myth of Fyjör and Yddren, Tree of Gold—a tale from Jállvend, a land from The Green-Roofed Tower, my work in progress)