The Bards' Epic I

It was noon; Meal time at the great house, which meant the rest of the village was practically deserted. The sheep were corralled for the mid-day break, the cats were set to guard their homes, and the people were filtering in from all corners of the fields. That was how Bacchius first found the place, nearly empty. These people ate earlier than what he was used to, so he was always late to their Meal and came in after the affairs had started.
But that village fringed with hills was inviting to travelers and bards, and Bacchius liked the folk well enough to forgive them their quaint habits. He knew they wouldn't grudge a man his daily Meal just because he was late to the hall, and made his way confidently up to the front doors of the building at the hub of the small village. This was a happy enough population, Bacchius knew well enough; so he was surprised upon entering the hall to see somber and pale faces adorning a crowd robbed of its warmth.
A man stood on top of the high table, his tankard over his head as he spoke bracing words of encouragement to the men. Something was wrong.
"Bacchius," a voice near him whispered, and the young man looked toward that voice as the whisper rippled out from its source. The man on the table lost the thread of his speech as he too spotted the newcomer and leapt down from his perch. He was older, with a grey beard of some length to show his status among his fellows, and spoke with the authority that such a status grated him. He had taken the name Prilious when the spot of Elder was given to him. He was bent in his age with tanned and leathered skin wrapping lithe muscles on weary bones that shook as he approached. His eyes were grey and his nose was shriveled, his lips were thin beneath his beard.
"Good bard," the Prilious said warmly, shaking Bacchius' hand with both his own, "you come to us, as ever, late in our proceedings."
"As ever, my apologies," Bacchius nodded, hitching a smile on his easy face despite the tension of the room. "But what has robbed all of their merry welcome?" His golden eyes scanned the room again even as he shook the Prilious' hand still. In answer, he was led back outside, where his mount and luggage waited. "Elder Prilious, what is wrong in this town?" he asked again, speaking more freely to the grandfather now that the eyes of the town were not on them.
"Coyotes, my boy," the Prilious sighed, shaking his head, continuing to walk slowly away from the hall. "They've been coming closer and closer to our boarders every night. The sheep have been keeping everyone up with their cries."
Bacchius paused at this, thinking back to his last nights' travels. "Yes, I heard them," he nodded, "they woke me after I had bedded down along the wold. Still a days ride from your place."
"They have much reason to give their full cry," the old man sighed, reaching a hand out to pat the forest deer that was the bard's mount. "I was trying to bolster the men just now when you joined us. I fear a pack will come into the town tonight, and if not, then the men will go out looking for them."
"Is there a hunter among them?" Bacchius asked, skeptical of such a band a farmers and herdsmen.
"But one," a new voice joined the two, from the mouth of a neat young man with dark hair coifed back in a short tail. The man's eyes were a sparkling blue, his nose strong and sloping, lips lush and even set. The skin of his hide was tinged dark from work but still betrayed the man's easy life with its flawless surface.  He held his hand out to Bacchius and called himself Libbard. "I am the only hunter this village has produced."
"Yes, I know you," Bacchius smiled, shaking the hand warmly.
"Have we not met before?" Libbard asked, knitting his brows together at this comment.
"Not many Libbards get songs written about them for killing leopards," Bacchius chuckled, "I know many people through song and epic."
"I see," Libbard nodded, not completely gathering the bard's humor.
"In any case, my sons," the Prilious intervened, "my men need encouragement, more than I can give and more than our one hunter can assure." He faced Bacchius more directly, "you come to us at a sorrowful time, Bard, but perhaps that is to your advantage.  You could sing us a song of might and bravery to console my people."
"A thousand at the tip of my tongue, Elder," Bacchius smiled, ready to perform at once. He was used to performing before his Meal in this town, as he was always late for first servings. The Prilious seemed content with the answer, and led the two young men back into the hall through the front doors. The folk had begun to chatter and let themselves grow more frightened while their Elder was gone, but like a flame the noise was snuffed out with the simple breeze of opening a door.
"My children and sons," the Prilious began as he parted the crowd for their guest, "eat well your Meal this day and enjoy it in the company of the words of Bacchius, a great bard and friend to us all." A round of mild "huzzah" replied, some tankards tipped in the Elder's direction, but the mood stayed dim.
The bard ignored his congealed welcome, and made his way to the highest table at the middle of the room, lifting himself to stand upon it with great difficulty, for he was a short man of his age, and began at once to sing.

"Woma the hunter! Called the snake of his Dreed!
Woma the hunter! Tall, pale, and aloof
Known to take down animals of any breed
Was the one to hunt out the great Grizzly Wolf!
Calling tri lai tri lai ru lai
Tra lai tra lai ru lai rauuuuuu

Woma the hunter was a tower of a man
Though his was a stout little breed
Standing at a Goshawks wingspan
He overshadowed all in his Dreed
Calling tri lai tri lai ru lai
Tra lai tra lai ru lai rauuuuuu

These valley folk had life rougher than most
As they tended the flocks of their sheep
The finest of guards this town could boast
Yet still couldn't defend the keep
For every midnight in that valley
A howl would rattle their sleep
A beast would run up the alley
And make off with another poor sheep
Calling tri lai tri lai ru lai
Tra lai tra lai ru lai rauuuuuu

T'was the great Grizzly Wolf of Addis
That kept this poor town 'neath his paw
That claimed all the herdsmen's flocks as his
That took off with whatever he saw
Calling tri lai tri lai ru lai
Tra lai tra lai ru lai rauuuuuu

Woma was now a boy yet young and fair
But he was as tall as his father already
Long was the length of his hair
Strong were his limbs all, and steady,
He called for food like a bear
And all in his Dreed would plead for the deed
That did predict the Seer
Calling tri lai tri lai ru lai
Tra lai tra lai ru lai rauuuuuu

A young man still was he on the day
That he met his great foe in the night
And they circled each other before 'gain the fray
While the townsfolk quivered in fright

A spear he had not, nor sword of lance
The shield was offered but denied
Bare armed he was when he did advance
On this foe with his eyes on the hide

Of the great Grizzly Wolf of Addis
That kept this poor town 'neath his paw
That claimed all the kinsmen's lives as his
That took off with whatever he saw
Calling tri lai tri lai ru lai
Tra lai tra lai ru lai rauuuuuu

And so long was the battle of greatness
Through the day and another day still
Until Woma discovered the weakness
That would finish the others ones will
The Great Snake he became
As he mounted the back
Of a beast the farthest from tame
He wrapped himself about the neck
And his strength never did wane
The Wolf thrashed and tried oft to throw him
But Great Woma felt not the pain
Till at last the Wolf's soul did grow dim
And he called  tri lai tri lai ru lai
Tra lai tra lai ru lai rauuuuuu

The breath of the beast left it's harbor
And sought out for where nobody knows
Since then the Serpents great ardor
Has been known to his many great foes
For he calls tri lai tri lai ru lai
Tra lai tra lai ru lai rauuuuuuuuuuuu!"

The bard's tale ended in a passionate howl, that shook the people of the Meal hall with both awe and fear. Yet as he held out his final note, tankards were thrust into the air and the men of the hall howled in response; great was the memory of Woma of the valley folk. The men still seemed somber, the women still looked fearful, more than a few tears coursed down the cheek of many children; the people were still afraid. But their eyes had taken on a new glow that told Bacchius his song had done its job, the people were spirited enough to fight.
The Bard leapt down from the table, joining his kinsmen in their somber Meal. He was free to roam the hall as he pleased, and soon found a seat empty on a bench near the far kitchens window. To the seat's right was the wall of the building, but to its left was seated a young lady, lush in common beauty.
"May I have this seat?" Bacchius asked the lady, bowing his head so low that his eyes were blocked from hers, and his curling hair fell over his face.
"This is a kitchens seat, good Bard," the lady replied, "it is not customary for anyone to sit here but the daughters of the kitchen."
"Permit me to be the customary exception," that good Bard begged, remaining low but tipping his head up to smile at the lass, "a bard learns his songs from all corners of the world. Including the kitchen corner." The young woman laughed, and permitted the bard his ration on the bench, the only man among the table of young daughters and housewives.