pile and heave

They rested a fortnight upon the Great Stair: of game there was plenty; the weather stayed fair. As soon as the stormheads did pile and heave they packed their belongings and took their due leave and trod from the summit which they had called home, took pelt spear and rations left nothing but loam. Through little-known passages they made their way with nary a waver and not much delay they crept through the Wilds and dodged the patrols of dark King Luzari and his hated trolls. There was but one victim (he died of old age), they lowered him into a too-shallow cage of rock stone and earthen clods out on the heath with coins on his eyelids and sage in his teeth. Then upon returning they found their stead burned by bastard Luzari and his churlish worms, did stay for a while and searched high and low, let not foul impatience nor cruel worry grow. Marked deep in a cavern a message they found it said that their kin had fled to higher ground, they rushed to the Heights with deliberate speed rejoicing at finding the well-hidden lead. They found there their clansmen and clanswomen too and whipped up a rabbit and venison stew and performed their customs and prepared a feast and prayed to the Father who's born in the east. They stayed there the winter, as snow the trees bent, then off to the high Land of Plenty they went where their dark-haired children grew tall great and strong, made merry and hunted, spun yarn tale and song.

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