"The Time has come," you say; "Life must be renewed;
The Island's power is failing, the vibrant vigor fades."
Now silence lies on groves where does and fawns did play
And the proud moose in bogs no longer wades.

I hear the dewdrops falling in this cloudy forest,
Nary another sound, a hush is all around.
A startled pheasant's sudden angry squawk
Is cut off, feathers drifting to the ground.

Deep underground the horkvals slowly toil,
Heaviness on their limbs: the Queen can feed no more.
The waves sigh on the beach, all have left us;
Giorian frowns and leans upon his oar.

Renew the Life! Begin a circle new!
Thus you say, Serach, you and all those hunters.
But who took Life? Where has my kindred gone?
Wherefore butchered lie my sons, my daughters?

What's life to you, ye hunters of Ulangi?
Ye speak of rituals as if they were a game,
Yet in those rituals no life of yours is lost:
Serach himself did flee my glen in shame.

Nay, but for the memory of sons and daughters,
For bucks and does you slew, you will pay a price.
The blood of my brethren doth cry for vengeance,
Yet you dare come to me, seeking my sacrifice?

You bear this wooden pendant: 'tis an omen ill,
That speaks of blood that will be shed to-night.
You come to take my corpse: by Ulangi's slain, I swear,
I will not yield my life without a fight!


Penned by my hand on the 17th of Scarlatan, in the year 389 AF.