I will not rise.

I will not beat the greatest warrior and take their place as mightiest.

I will not challenge the skald to a battle of rhyme and wit, or, if I by some hubris do so, I will not win.

I will not bake the finest bread in all the county, and men and women will not speak gladly of my prowess in the bakery.

I will not rise. Such is not my fate, to be known far and wide for the skill of my hands or my arms or of my voice and my mind.

I am not to be the mightiest, I am not to be the ruler. I have my small hill and my small lands, and over those, I will be ruler enough.

The poets will not speak of me for my skill or for my beauty.

But I will write my name on these flags, and I will weave my name in these threads, and I will press my name in this cloth.

And the wind will blow my name across all this land.

written to clare_dragonfly‘s prompt, because I needed to fight a couple more Frizi (on #4thewords)

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