Lady of the Hunted Folk, Huldra who tends the flocks of the Aesir even when Your own are hunted, I pray to better know You, to understand the pull and flow of being hunted yet hunter as You and Yours are. Hunt me Lady and I shall in turn hunt You in the silence of the worlds, in the pools of quiet buried within, in the forests hushed by a predators passing. Hail Huldra, may my silence deepen that I might better hear You!
Prayer to Hoenir
Hoenir, king of the lands of plenty, what wisdom have you found amongst the marsh birds and the eels?
God who granted will to Ask and Embla, terrible will born of a slayer of Yimir, haunter of the lands most filled with Yimir’s blood, what do you seek there?
Are the bog lamps the lingering flicker of Yimir’s synapses, does wyrd stretch out it’s threads before you in the fog, or are the cleansing places of the world whispering their secrets?
With whom would you share your heron-wit?
Will the descendants of the driftwood born be worthy of such a gift, or will we burn brightly and fade like the will o wisps of your holy places?
Silence in the bulrushes may greet the querent, but that may be an answer in itself. May we be worthy Hoenir, may we learn from your primal acts, and in your silence may you not be forgotten.
Prayer to Loki
Hail to the terrifying light of truth shining from blood stained teeth,
Hail to the fire that burns away falsity and leaves all clothed in ashes,
Hail to the god who blackens hearts and consumes minds to cinders,
Hail to the feral one whose rage eats civilizations,
Hail to the father of the doomed whose children are lost to carnage and madness,
Hail to the mother who brings forth a better wyrd and breaks in the birthing,
Hail to the son of Laufey, Hail Loki!
And last but in no way least…
Prayer to Huldra
Hail to the songs of mourning, drifting as fog in the valleys, the cries for those lost to the hunters of storm and night, hail to the hidden folk and their lady Huldra. Praise be to the hollow backed maiden that blesses the pious hunter. Praise be to the cow tailed maiden who watches the woodsman’s fire. Praise be to Huldra, who destroys the defilers weapons, twisting cold iron and tossing their corpses to the hungry forest. May the need-fire rings again be carved in the hedgerows and Your people be given shelter, Hail Huldra!