III
Torundel felt clever. Why he couldn't say. It was definitely not because he felt good.
There was no breakfast. The hamma seeds were eaten. He didn't know how to make porridge, so yesterday he had just taken it cold with water and sugar.
Outside his windows the wind was still screaming, and the sea was rough. The fishermen had stayed home, not a single of their dirty, old tubs were to be seen on the giant waves. Tomorrow, or the day after, the green waves now crashing against the rocks, would be crimson from algae that had been roused from the bottom of the ocean. The sea would be the colour of blood.
Feeling sick and weary he looked into the empty cupboard. I will have my revenge! The words was from an ode by the ancient warrior priest, Sang Lokke. My wrath will ravage the world!
He didn't know from whence these rebellious stanzas came, but the words of the old poet made him feel more alive than he'd felt since his wedding.
And in that moment it came to him. I can shitpost! The old, manly ritual of shitposting that hadn't been practiced by anybody for centuries. Close to no one even knew what it was.
Torundel felt clever.
Torundel the Shitposter! A serial fiction that follow these rules:
211 words - Starting with the word Torundel - First and last sentence are identical.
As I am not a native English speaker, I will do like 
Earlier episodes:
Part I
Part II
