To the Mad Wolf’s lair the brave knights crept,

their hearts in their throats, their swords in their hands;

with a smile on his lips, the Mad Wolf slept,

the Wolf and his sons, the whole band,

aye, the Wolf and his sons, the whole band.

’Twas a battle at which no flags would flap,

though swords would flash and men would fall, the Wolf would roar and his sons would snap.

Be wary as the beasts-in-the-flesh loom tall,

but be wary of the youngest most of all.

—Anonymous, AD 1210, Faintree Castle