The Legend of the Herdsman

Many years ago, the Gods wished to challenge the plainsfolk,
So they gave us a bad harvest and a hard winter.
We huddled together, and peed with the wind.
We tightened our belts, and grew out our hair.
The wind howled at us, so we sang along with it.   The winter wore on.
Some cried with their families.
Others walked into the winds and died on the grass.
The Shaman sat in the wind for an hour each day.
She laughed with the Gods.   When the wind fell silent,
When the snow bled away,
When the grass turned green,
When the herd gave birth,
That is when we went to take from the Elves,
Whom had sat fat in their towers.
The Khanate, the Eilak families, and
Yours truly did ride, with one goal.   The Elves were mad.
The Elves were bitter.
Their blew their horns,
And gathered their bows.
They sent their toughest.   All they found was a figure.
One who survived that winter,
without shelter, amoungst a herd.
Their whole clan dead.
A lash, a cowl, a horn they had.   The Herdsman had known the winter,
Had lost all the kin,
Had seen those raiders,
And knew the score,
For this was their war.   With a crack of the whip,
They were back in the saddle.
With a burst of the horn,
They charged forth.
All of the herds were at their back.   The Elves saw too late,
A hurried formation.
They shat their pants
As living thunder crashed around them.   As the Herdsman rode,
They saw Gods running with them.
The Gods reveled in memory.
The Festival of Carnage,
Fresh and spilling anew.   The Elves fled back to their towers.
Their Emperor was mad and bitter.
Their Emperor was ashamed.
The Herdsman returned to the plains.
The Herdsman they stayed.