Prophecy: Child of Earth

The Three shall come, leaving early, arriving late,

The lifestages of all men:

Child of Blood, Child of Earth, Child of the Sky.

Each man, formed in blood and born in it,

Walks the Earth and sustained by it,

Reaching to the sky, and sheltered beneath it,

He ascends there only in his ending, becoming part of the stars.

Blood gives new beginning,

Earth gives sustenance,

The Sky gives dreams in life—eternity in death.

Thus shall the Three be, one to the other.

Among the last to leave, among the first to come,

Seeking a new host, uninvited, in a new place.

The power gained being the first,

Was lost in being the last.

Hosts shall nurture it, unknowing,

Like the guest wreathed in smiles

While secretly poisoning the larder.

Jealously guarded of its own power,

Ne’er has, nor ever shall its host bear or sire children,

Yet ever it seeks to procreate.

The Sleeping Child, the youngest born

Lives on in dreams, though

Death has come

To write her name within his tome

And no one yet has thought to mourn.

The middle child, who sleeping lies,

’Twixt watersky and shifting sands

Sits silent, holding patient hands

Until the day she can arise.

The eldest child rests deep within

The ever-silent vault of earth,

Unborn as yet, but with its birth

The end of Time Itself begins.

Within a Circle of Four will stand a Circle of Three

Children of the Wind all, and yet none

The hunter, the sustainer, the healer,

Brought together by fear, held together by love,

To find that which hides from the Wind.

Hear, oh guardian, and look upon your destiny:

The one who hunts also will stand guard

The one who sustains also will abandon,

The one heals also will kill

To find that which hides from the Wind.

Listen, oh Last One, to the wind:

The wind of the past to beckon her home

The wind of the earth to carry her to safely

The wind of the stars to sing the mother’s-song most known to her soul

To hide the Child from the Wind.

From the lips of the Sleeping

Child will come the words of ultimate wisdom:

Beware the Sleepwalker

For blood will be the means

To find that which hides from the Wind.