The Sacred King 
        The Men and Women were hungry. They would eat of those that walk in 
Fur, Fin and Feather, and thank them for their sacrifice, but that was not 
enough. They would eat of the wild fruits of the Earth, but that was not 
enough, for all of these must be found, and hunted, and a home cannot be 
built on this. 
        And the Sacred King saw, and thought upon it for a time, and His face 
grew grave and sad.
        And He spoke to the Lady, and said, "I must die."
        And the Lady grieved for Her Lord, and He fell upon His Sword, and 
died. 
        The Mother buried Him in the Earth, returning Him to Her Womb, and 
mourned, and Winter wrapped the World in ice and snow.
        She covered the face of the Sky with dark clouds, and Her Tears of 
rain poured therefrom in cascades and torrents. 
        And the Tears of the Mother wetted the ground, and the Sun warmed the 
ground, and a green shoot appeared, poking its head out from the Womb of the 
Mother, and grew as the days grew, longer and taller, until the golden hair 
of the Sacred King once more waved proudly in the wind; until the Grain of 
the Fields stood, row upon row, as far as the eye could see; until the Bounty 
of the Mother, the Sacred King Himself, stood upon the World, ready to be 
harvested. 

        "That was well done," said the Mother, "But it pains me to see you 
die." 
        "It is as it must be," He said, "And does it not show them that Death 
is an illusion; is but another change in a MultiVerse of Change? It feeds 
them, too, and this is a good thing." 
        "You are right," She sighed, "But I just wish it could have been done 
in a kinder way." 
        "Maybe," He spoke, lowly, "But it is as it is nonetheless."

        Thus it was, and so it is, and evermore shall be so!




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