I sing the old story, Avren the Heron’s tale,
who dwelled over the sea, in the moon’s own country,
but came across Ocean following the osprey,
to golden Orien, the nine-island kingdom
that rises between worlds from the deepest waters,
and brings great gifts to men in every land and place.
He tracked the course of stars across empty waters,
and built a boat of hide and captained that vessel:
made the fearful crossing, a hundred-thousand leagues.
Behold, he attained much, yet left behind plenty:
Accepting Ocean’s swell, he crossed the wide waters,
to bring the love of moon to people in darkness.
Sing, you dancing daughters, children of Sun and Moon,
how Avren the Heron came to bright Orien,
and how he prospered here, among the nine islands.

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