The iron cold of winter’s bite,A shadow cast across the light.The raven’s wing, the wolf’s keen eye,Underneath a leaden sky.I feel the ancestors in my blood,A rising tide, a crimson flood.

(Deep, rhythmic drumming begins, mimicking a heartbeat. A low, distorted bass growl settles in.) Gav: (Low, melodic growl) Farewell to thunder... Peyton: (High, gritty rasp) Farewell to rain... Both: (Harmonizing in a guttural roar) THE NORTH IS CALLING OUR NAMES!

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