Sing to me the stories of the great people, said to be divine, and yet people still.
Sing to me the stories of the wicked people, said to be demons, and yet people still.
Sing to me such stories as would make the word tremble, with delight and fear, with grief and rapture.
In the golden land of Evandime there lived a two-eyed serpent, Green. She coiled and recoiled over what were to her but large rocks, but were mountains to the people. Some say she once bore the shape of a woman, others that she bears it still, sometimes walking among them,
In the land of Evandime they love the serpent Green.
“Mother,” they say, “let thy coils be our shields, let they breath be our warmth, and let thy wisdom persevere.”
The simple folk of Evandime praise her in the fields, singing songs as sweet as lullabies, yet invigorating too.
“Oh serpent, Green,” they gently scream, a piercing hammer blow.
“Please bless my crops, Lady of Rocks, send peace to us below.”
