When mortals came into the wild,
the Earthmother did not grow riled.
She saw they would not turn away,
so chose to meet them where they lay.

She called on one who knew Her will,
a Dryad shaped by temple still.
Caladriendra left that place
to meet the mortals face to face.

She met a Tsol'aa, Ciannait,
and with her, sought a path uncut.
They spoke for many patient days,
exchanging truths in forest ways.

From what they shared, a path began,
not drawn by war but hand in hand.
The first Druid would rise in time,
a bond that grew from root to rhyme.

That choice remains for those who care,
to teach, to guide, to be aware.
To listen well, to speak with grace,
and honour what took root in place.

But not all souls will seek to learn.
Some leave the forest scarred and burned.
Some test the patience of the land,
and force the Earth to raise Her hand.

Caladriendra spoke it clear,
we serve not only forests near.
We act on mortal kind's behalf,
to shield them from Her rightful wrath.

She hopes Her warmth will ever stay,
and welcome all who seek Her way.
But if that hope is cast aside,
Her chill may come, and not abide.

And we will see, with bated breath,
the Earthmother as Queen of Death.


Penned by my hand on the 14th of Mayan, in the year 978 AF.