A small Aslaran leans against a tree beside the road,
His head raised, despite his carried load;
His eyes glitter, the sunset mirrored in them;
Youth, once brash and bright as a gem,
Has begun to wear away at the edges.

The air is tinged with a mossy, briny spice,
The Inner Sea, he has come to recognise.
Upon the banks of Gloriana River he has sat,
Tired legs dipped in water, heart aching with regret.
What made him agree to this trip?

He could feel eyes on him, vigilantly watching,
As he hastily skirted by Glomdoring;
He concealed himself with his cloak and hood,
Passed through Magnagora as fast as he could,
Until he chanced to see the Megalith of Doom.

The stories told of the great Celestine fall,
Of the Black Cloud that rolled on and consumed all,
Textbook descriptions of the transformed city,
Now came to life in terrible, vivid clarity.
History, in a flash, took on meaning --

Blood rose and surged inside him,
In a moment, he crossed the interim
That marked the difference between child and adult.

He outgrew his naïveté and shed his fear
His goal, once unattainable, was now so near.
His pride, he knew, would be proud.

With memories of his home and the hearth that had been,
And the beauty and majesty of places he had seen,
His body was now strong enough to continue.

And so, an Aslaran leans against a tree beside the road,
His head raised impressively, despite his load;
His eyes look to the north, and they shine
With the glow of his spirit and the reflection of the divine.

He reveres the Basin, filled with such life and vitality,
Something he can't believe he was blind to initially.
Now, his world revolves around a central locus,
Where the destinies of many converge and focus.

He gazes at the point in the sky, his pulse quickening
An immense height he never imagined he'd be scaling;
But here he is, mane longer, skin tawnier, ready to seek
The enlightenment that he will find on Avechna's Peak.