Page Thirty-One

Cyclical thoughts twirl and swirl in hunger's curl. questions of now, then, yestermorrows and tomesterday's end.

A fool's errand to follow famished fishes round river bends.

End spouts and sputters of rambled mutters to a greeted meeting.

Archenen of the Bron Forests welcomes us to the world awaiting.

Heeded warnings heap,

for dark times creep.

A Hotumn is a rise and fall,

In hopeless times do Hotemnen call.

Come with, and join,

Stir back your spiraling, and move with haste.

Your feet will be fine, and your belly will dine,

on a serpent's sacrifice,

and the desert glass' promise.

White shines in the black,

as green and red glare back,

and bring pace toward a land awaiting the Mother of Serpents.