when I was a child sat upon my mother’s knee by firelight she spoke of rights, and ancient history and one phrase she repeated though I knew not what it meant be safe, da’len, young lethallan,
may the dread wolf never catch your scent.
and as I grew I thought I knew the path my life would take but when the dream broke open, only I was left awake and then you took my hand and taught me how to turn the key I held it, how was I to know,
I’d let the wolf catch wind of me?
I took up arms, I lead the charge, some called me prophet, blessed and by my side you guided, wise and seemingly guileless but the truth’s not always obvious, not written on the skin sometimes to let the truth come out,
you have to let the dread come in.
you called me “ma vhenan” and showed me worlds I’d never known lands of mists and memories, of faded sky and stone then with words so soft and sad, you left me in that glen and though you brought me low I know,
I’d let the dread wolf in again.
my love has vanished through the veil so now I’m stark and bare at night I go to sleep and dream and hope he’ll meet me there he wandered from the waking world, I know not where he went but I’d be with my dread wolf now,