The worm crawls over the cold white face of Strider as his corpse lies naked beneath the frozen landscape. Sunken into the earth in order to rot back into his homeland, his flesh destined, come the spring, to feed the acorn clasped in his rigid fist.
The oak tree will grow, if the powerful Odinic experiment that was Strider proves successful.
The overriding principle of the writings of Strider is that thoughts have weight. What we think, becomes a reality. Yet whether that reality reflects who we really are depends on whether the minds of the Children of Albion remain their own.
Should one’s thoughts arise from the folk-soul, then the mighty oak will come into being. But if thoughts become polluted, germination will not occur and our flame will become extinguished. Forever.
Strider is dead, but his soul is alive. Weighty thoughts have permeated outwards and resounded through the cosmos.
Our people are of one mind. A collective sub-conscious. But the question remains: to what frequency are we tuned into?
* * *
It is winter in the land of Albion
Keep the spirit of Strider alive.
Waes thu Hael!
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