[Intro]
[An uneven guitar figure circles beneath the scrape of horn rim on oak.]

[Verse 1]
Ketil sat where fire met shade,
Near the pillar wolves had made.
Men spoke loudly, cups ran clear;
He spoke little, bent to hear.
When Lord Harek named the grain,
Ketil’s thumb traced round again.
When the western levy rose,
The horn rolled once between his palms.

[Refrain]
Slow in the hand, slow by the flame,
Round went the horn when men spoke a name.

[Verse 2]
A scar ran white across his cheek,
But left no weakness when he’d speak.
His voice was calm, his shoulders square,
A trusted weight in council there.
Yet when old Bjorn recalled the raid,
And lands Lord Harek had not paid,
Ketil smiled without reply;
The fire sat sharp within his eye.

[Chorus]
The horn turns slowly in Ketil’s hand,
Round as a millstone grinding the land.
A smile on the scar, a coal in the eye,
The horn turns slowly, and none ask why.
We heard only laughter, the boasting, the ale;
I heard one small scraping that followed each tale.

[Verse 3]
He asked who guarded eastern doors,
Who slept beside the winter stores.
He praised the young men’s sharpened steel,
Then asked how loyal men should feel.
Each question wore a friendly face,
Each answer fell in careful place.
No threat was spoken, none could blame
A man who drank and praised our name.

[Interlude]
[Tagelharpa repeats the oath motif with the final note lowered by a semitone.]

[Chorus]
The horn turns slowly in Ketil’s hand,
Round as a millstone grinding the land.
A smile on the scar, a coal in the eye,
The horn turns slowly, and none ask why.
We heard only laughter, the boasting, the ale;
I heard one small scraping that followed each tale.

[Bridge]
I knew that turn from winter trails,
When wolves first circle at the front.
They bare no tooth, they make no sound;
They count the weak, then close around.

[Break]
Two fingers touched the bronze before.
Two boots now measured out the door.
One vow still warmed the crowded hall.
One mind had stepped beyond its wall.

[Final Chorus]
The horn turns slowly in Ketil’s hand,
A wheel that will grind both the oath and the land.
The smile stays gentle, the answer stays dry;
The horn turns slowly, and I let it pass by.
I heard the warning beneath every tale,
Then drowned my doubt in the brotherhood’s ale.

[Outro]
[The asymmetrical riff ends unresolved after one final scrape.]

A quiet sign, a turning rim.
I saw the horn. I trusted him.