When nature’s time comes round Seek the Shaper’s guiding hand. Three true forms will be presented, To these forms your life must yield.
In the stillness of the night, Under the Knot’s ever-shifting light, Mark the ground with the Shaper’s seal, And await your forms of destiny.
The rhyme tumbled through Mesh’iel’s mind, her lips silently forming each syllable as she knelt in the meadow. Prickling knees gnawed at her focus, reminding her that she had been in this position for hours. She hopped onto the balls of her feet and rubbed her hands over her dimpled knees. A quick glance ensured that her movements had not disrupted the pattern of the Shaper's seal she had laid out in the meadow using white river mud.