In the murk, the Bog Queen stirs. Her hands and teeth nip at your fur. Don't let her voice into your thoughts, Or else her screams shall make them rot. So plug your ears and clean your paws, Don't let her pick apart your flaws. You draw your spear, she'll hide beneath. Steady now—she'll sense your heat. So long as dead shall fail to rise, That wicked queen bears no surprise. Listen close, don't say a word. Valravn alone know what you heard. Now close your eyes, and she'll be gone, Back to the bog—just wait for dawn.