The Companionating Trilogy

C

The Joining of Life


± Prologue ±

In a clearing,

Of shimmering gold.

There lays a myth,

A tale of old.

A tale- hear yea,

That tells of such:

Magicked eggs,

Of which bring glory much.

The eggs may be crimson,

Black, green, or blue.

Personalities differ,

And match with thy True.

Some come from water,

Whilst others be earth,

Some born unto the skies,

And another- the hearth!

Only those few,

Those with thy true heart.

Are given the chance,

To make a new start.

From the tales of old,

I tell yea all this:

The eggs will reject thou,

If yea heart be amiss.

Such a poem has been passed down over the centuries; passed from father to child and eventually to that child's children. No one knows of the authenticity of such a tale, such a fantasy of magicked, colored eggs. 'Tis silly indeed, aye? No! 'Tis not indeed! I tell you, 'twas my grandfather's father who began having dreams! My own blood and kin, I yell yea! Aye, it started with little things; dreams of shimmering, gold-dappled light over an emerald sea of dew-tipped grasses. Then it grew to greater heights…images of eggs; flame-kissed, water-flecked, earth-covered eggs. They all were different, gleaming in all their glory and sporting their element proudly. Then a voice was added to the dream; a light, musical voice that called my grandfather's father, using these words:

'Come, hear ye not? Come to me.'

My kin didn't know what this was. No other soul in this village had these dreams, or even spoke of such, or acted as if they had been plagued by such night images. Yet he knew this was important, and he followed- left the village without a backward glance! Of course, he was never seen again, though rumors spread of a clearing- Cl'tal Gordene. Clearing of Gold.

Joc