Making of the Moon-Isles (book)

The Making of the Moon-Isles

Preserved and translated by Cheile-Ceol

The waves wash here
Lap on shore
Motion has polished the rocks
And ground the sand
If you look close
And walk when the moons are dark
Eluned will sometimes offer up a gift
A piece of our fates among the sands --

Dark black glass
Tumbled in the tides
Cracked, but the edges worn smooth
A piece of the Dragon's Moon
Washed at your feet
Cradled it in a nest of foam.

You may think to take it
You may think this treasure yours
But Drogor considers it his --

The moon's bursting and falling down,
Stirred our seas and Drogor swelled
A beautiful storm!
The walls of water plunged up as a fountain
As if to replace the space of the Dragon's moon!
The world shaken like a toddler's toy
Waves sweeping over bounds,
To clean the shoulders of this world.
Drogor laughed! Sweet splashing!
Twas then the seas grew salty from the spice of dragon shell!
The veil of water fell everywhere
All the world tasted Drogor's draught
All wet and seasoned with his delight,
Til at last he summoned the sea
Back to its beds.

Touch not his treasure,
Lest you stir his wrath.
Let it lie for all to wonder.
Let Eluned's fingers reach up again,
Let her palm pluck it
And return it to Drogor's depth
For He will pursue the sailor who steals his shell,
The collector who claims his carapace
The wanderer who would have his winnings --
Nay, Traveler let that treasure lie.

Behold the bit of what has formed our world...
Fragments from afar:
When the moon fell and carved the crater --
The moan of the moon's-mold our melody --
The spray, Eluned's sweet breath:
We who dwell on its rim
Rise each morning to behold
The sun rise o'er our shell-shard sea-pearls
Islands of the moon, beyond which Drogor dwells --
For Drogor has put them there to play upon
There his storms are fiercest
His delight most dreadful,
There the old Searekker* himself,
Seeks to stir his storms,
Even the sheltered shrink.

But still, the sea is the sand's-heaven --
It's hands a haven for me.