In the parting,
in the backward glance of the Watcher,
a single tear fell through the hush of heaven:
light and longing bound as one.

The Deep stirred to meet it,
wresting His hands from throne, and crown, and spear.
He caught love's unrestrained expression
and wrapped it in His endless sway,
singing tides into its breath.
It drank of Him,
and of every stream and spring,
until the earth cracked with thirst
and the rivers turned to dust.

From plague and desolation rose Her bright shape:
curiosity and hunger entangled,
a lantern within the flood.
She opened Her eyes
and the world remembered movement.
Her voice was the murmur of distant falls,
her heart the glimmer of moonlight upon black waves.

The Moon beheld Her, silent with wonder;
the Sea exulted, swollen with pride.
From One She learned to seek,
from the Other, to claim.
Thus the waters yearned to travel,
to draw the edges of every map.

But when sorrow walked the garden,
and Luck drew His only losing hand,
She vowed vengeance, and charged.
Suffering's lash struck a treacherous blow,
and Oppression cut down Her snarling allies.
Betrayal opened the door for claws unrelenting.
The beasts of the forests howled in mourning,
sending shudders through every riverbed.
Her light flickered,
gasped and faded,
and the World was torn.

Now the Watcher grieves in shivering starlight,
and the Deep rages double upon hated land.
Sometimes They clash, cold and aching,
sometimes They fold together, warm and understanding,
each remembering the daughter
who bridged Their distance vast.

And in the quiet between sleep and waking,
Her image guides the dreaming.
She is the Tear that traced paths uncounted,
the current that cannot rest,
the call that beckons beyond the horizon,
the whispering lure of uncharted lands.


Penned by my hand on the 20th of Sarapin, in the year 988 AF.