The world was young when I was old,

Forgotten tales yet to be told,

Hammers forged in smithies deep

Craftsmen worked, secrets ancient there’s to keep,

Listen to the music drifting sweet from Elvish harps

Dwarfish choirs from high mountains drifting over rough landscape dark

Whilst men work the fields with troubled hands

Watch the night closely against such evil that stalked the lands

Tellers of tales travel far and wide

Creating stories with solemn pride,

See the horseman on a fine dark steed 

Traveling a road with solemn need

What task is his?  What lies ahead?

None could say of the path down which his fate so led,

Wait in the forest, wait for the sun to come

From behind the clouds when the troubled storm has done,

Watch it all with a ravens eye

From which dark orb no tear will cry

Hear the calls upon the wind

Time to go, to run back in

To hearth and home, to comfort there,

By the fire, tales of the day then to share.
I see the moon, watch it rise

Feel the rush increase my size

See the world through another beast eyes

Shapeshifters gift, hear my cries

Carried loudly through the night

Be of good heart, feel no fright 



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