It is nestled high in the mountains

Built of antlers, surrounded by evergreen,

Ski-marks swirl in spirals between.

Skulls of beasts in branches hung,

Each a kill far clean and fine,

In blank eyeholes icicles shine.

The ice-crust breaks beneath my step

As I approach, the branches brush me,

And all his laughter seems to touch me.

Hail the flashing Lord of Ydalir,

Swift as wind upon the snow,

Mountain-high, he blesses us below.