'The shadows of Mother Night are an ever-shifting being. They evolve and reshape with the movement of Father Sun and Mother Night, adapting to their new enviroment. Adaptation is the tool of the strong.'
~ Liturgy of Adaptation

In a wonderous forest in a time before recorded history, lived a cow. It was an ordinary creature, with limited expectations, gentle in nature and lacking in intelligence but as little was required of it other than eating grass and producing milk, it had a comfortable life.

Those who drank from the cow felt truly blessed in their existence. "Lo, what a wonderful life it is," they exclaimed, "To have fresh, warm milk whenever we so wish. Surely we must be the luckiest people in the lands."

Their understanding of power was thus: the cow was a vessel, a conduit of sorts, that both took away and gave back to Nature in a beautiful and complete cycle. It represented a circle, not unlike that of the Moon they worshipped. As long as the circle remained complete and unchanging, so too would their power over Nature remain.

None were permitted to question the validity of this perception. The system had to be maintained at all costs, and for those that accepted this truth there seemed none to pay.

Life was seen to be in perfect balance and harmony as manifested physically by the presence of the cow. Nothing must change. All must stay as is. And the delicate cycle remained without threat for some time. Everything harvested was replanted, and anything worn was renewed.

Although nothing grew into anything greater than it was, the people were content with their lot. Children drank from the cow and drew strength from its milk, and the forests around them flourished.

Even in those seemingly perfect days, cracks began to appear upon the delicate and imaginary bubble surrounding the forest and its people. Change had been denied access and in a furious response, great waves of energy and power sparked and rebounded forming clouds that slowly gathered into a coalescing structure which took on its true shape under the watchful eye of Mother Night. She bathed her newest child in all her beauty and thus the great dragon was born.

With a sweep of its wing, powerful winds fell upon the forest, and as it sighed contentedly sparks flew and took fire in the undergrowth. When it felt sad, great tears rained down and flooded the new growth. When it laughed, the vibrations echoed out and shook the very ground. When Mother Night kissed her progeny, it spread its wings to full span and roared, its magnificent form releasing the shadows of Night across the land.

The people of the forest worked to strengthen their landscape against the harsh winds. They put out the fires that encouraged new growth. They built wells and ditches to soak the deluge. They beseeched the Moon to repair the broken earth. When their cow stopped producing milk they called harried assemblies and fretted and prayed and starved until once again it gave them sustenance.

When the shadows fell, the people became blind. To them, there was only darkness. They could not see the true beauty of these penumbras, how they adapated and changed and stretched fluidly and luxuriously into every cranny. And when the shadows lifted, they felt relief as if they had some how overcome the darkness through their faith in Mother Moon and Father Sun to give them light.

Little did they see how the shadows remained with them, in every crack, under every rock and beneath the very feet they stood on. And neither did they know that a babe born in that darkest night would open his eyes for the first time and see the beauty of the shadows fluctuating around him.

Life returned to how it was, nothing more and nothing less. Greatness had lingered upon the lives of these simple folk, yet they chose not to drink from its cup. And why should they, they might have asked themselves, when they had such a lovely cow?

As the child of shadows grew older, he began to question the world that was told to him. He drank milk as required but wondered if there were not other forms of nourishment that existed, that rather than satiate a hunger, could lift him beyond a humble existence? He yearned to fly among the stars. "What if..." became his mantra.

This truly worried the elders of his people. While several of their own, voluntarily or otherwise, had left the forest behind, they had never dealt with the innocent questioning of a child before. They assembled in the heart of their great forest, beneath a mighty tree that would one day become the very center of their power.

The child was brought forth and as usual he gazed around himself with curiousity. He did not immediately respond to the declarations made to him. His attention was drawn to a wondrous sight. He smiled and whispered a greeting.

The people looked around perplexed. In all their folly, they truly could not see the magnificent beast hovering above their periphery. And even as the dragon grew closer, they could only see the shadows it brought with it - as though its form were too large to be registered by a mortal eye.

As the dragon stetched forth its neck, great panic ensued amongst those in the enveloping darkness beneath it.

The boy however was not afraid. He knew now what he had been waiting for. He reached up and clutched onto the magnificent scales spread before him and pulled himself onto the peak of the dragons back. Clinging on with exhilaration, they began to fly, moving as if a single unit into a world yet unknown to the child.

He would find the others that had left, for there was more than one great forest, and there was more than one great community. And there he would teach his new kindred to fly upon the wings of a dragon. From lofty heights, they would acquire new perspectives that would change everything they knew.

Many years hence from that time, long after knowledge of the dragon itself had disappeared into folklore, in a time of great war and pain and change, the wisdom of how to fly, how to change, adapt, manipulate and understand the ebb and tide of life's flow, would save these people and their forest. Not to merely preserve that which had been but to transcend onto the back of something newer and greater and more wonderous from out of their very suffering.

As to whether the dragon really existed, it does not matter. The importance lies in the fact that we have learned to fly it. Those who understand to not only accept and embrace change, but to manipulate this wondrous gift from Mother Night, are truly the Chosen. Change is power, and that power is ours to control.