The stampede primeval of storm-gods into the blizzard, grappling in the fog with formlessness to draw out form in the haze : visualize the Gods wrestling with shadow in the sleet, dismembering the storm with their own passionate chaos of vibrant order, bringing life where there was derangement. Creation may be imagined as such a battle between clarity and obscurity, shape and shadow, light and darkness, with resultant color spilling forth in the blood of the clash, with all its nuanced shadings. In this melee, the formless immensity threatened to swallow and vanish the holy powers, who, persevered from their own audacity and wild-eyed eagerness, thrust themselves further and more creatively into the grapple, to rend the formless and render form. Here the rime-thurses, the sleet-and-hail throngs of frost, were thrown out of their howling derangement, with the warmth of the strong arm wielding mallet against the Earth's anvil, to shape. Here the horde of the wod-warriors, the wild, rushing wit and gusto rising high in inspiration, which we see reflected in a river's white-water surge, or the blitz of the striking wind through the course of the forest's branches, charged mightily and with primordial, undaunted confidence into the challenge before them. We may say in a sense that this battle continues indefinitely within the soul of the world as we seek to create in the midst of disorder.