Elarion, trembling seed,
lay down to earth in icy night,
and in the cold
her roots took hold
defying winter’s deathly bite.
Elarion, fading bloom,
afraid to wilt and dim and die,
she searched the dark
for but a spark
and caught the dragons’ hungry eye.
Elarion, frightened waif,
reached bone-white branches to the night,
the stars she asked
their light to cast
and stop the dragons’ fiery might.
Elarion, unworthy whelp,
Wept as the stars turned black the sky,
They donned their masks
They turned their backs,
And left Elarion to die.
Elarion, dying husk,
did wilt and whimper in the dark,
‘till the last star
Reached from afar
His touch: a blaze, a gift, a spark.
Elarion, searing white,
Embraced the great one’s night-black flame.
And when she bowed,
Her faith avowed,
He whispered, “Aaravos,” his name.
Elarion, black-eyed child,
her twisted roots spread deep and far,
The humans’ might
sparked by the light
of Aaravos, her midnight star.
