Lyrics
In a white-out the brother is flying blind,
And the boy calls every turn they find.
Through the howling wind and the blinding snow,
To the singing mouth where they must not go.
It is black in the cliff of the mountain's face,
A breathing dark in a frozen place.
There is winter's thaw and a gentle heat,
Where the howling gale and the mountain meet.
But it is not a den for a freezing guest,
And a storm is the worst time to claim a nest.
The mouth sings the old note, a shadow of kin,
But the law of the mountain won't welcome them in.
It calls through the blizzard, a spark in the cold,
A secret of darkness they leave to the old.
His white bone bow never leaves his back,
For a glow is an answer, an open track.
With a leaf-green dagger he cuts a line,
A shallow scratch for a scent and sign.
He presses his hand to the wet gray stone,
And the hum travels deep in the boy's own bone.
He pulls it away, let the storm begin,
For a second look is how doors will win.
On the dragon's back, they are turning away,
Leaving the hoard for a quieter day.
The wind is so glad they are taking to flight,
As the scratch is swallowed in blinding white.
But it is not a den for a freezing guest,
And a storm is the worst time to claim a nest.
The mouth sings the old note, a shadow of kin,
But the law of the mountain won't welcome them in.
It calls through the blizzard, a spark in the cold,
A secret of darkness they leave to the old.
Never look twice at the humming dark,
The brother remembers the shallow mark.