Here, in this isolated retreat, I work on the tales of the land of Corran and its many peoples. Armed with bare facts, ink and parchment I craft their histories for the Palace of the King's library. Only the best of my work sees that magical place, the rest lies here, shed like the dead skin of the Snake of Prophesy.

"Why have you come, forest dweller?" I peer at his pinched features, willing him to speak, "Have you some tale, a story of the fairfolk you wish recorded, news of the Great Court?" I manoeuvred him into the chair by the fireside. As I had thought, he did not answer swiftly, but flicked almond shaped eyes around the room, wary of the enclosing walls. Sighing I settled at his feet to await the return of his courage (there was only the one chair and I could hardly make him sit on the floor after what had probably been quite an arduous journey). Time passed and I grew restless, the rhythms of the Eldest race are not mine, their pauses can be ... dragging.

Puzzling over why he had risked the claustrophobia of my dwelling, I tugged at the hem of my fur wrap. The garment was becoming ragged. In truth, I had no right to such a luxury, but should suffer for my art and thus bring realism to my works. But...it was cold! Guiltily I let a little of the trapped heat escape from the warm clothing. Ah, the perils of being a truthful archivist.

Minstrel would have been my choice of profession, to be kept close and warm at court. But with the Others in attendance, the Sirens, Pixie, Elves, what chance had a human voice such as mine? Welladay, such was as was.

"The First Swan is dying," whispered the elf at last. I knew him now. That soft, lilting voice belonged to the youngest of the forest dwellers. In human talk, his name is Moonlight; in elfin it made a small song like heavenfire and diamonds. My hearth light played over his smooth skinned face and a shiver of fear swept over me. Bright and gentle Moonlight they had sent to tell me that the First Swan was dying.

Time passed and early twilight was upon us as we made our way through the forest. I listened to my clumsy footsteps with dread, sure I had summoned every predator in hearing range with my noise. Moonlight drifted up ahead of me, his tread seeming as light as dragon scales, noiseless as falling snow. How I envied him. Knowing that he must wear a thick hide cloak lined at the hem with heavy iron ingots or risk being swept away in some strong wind, even so, I envied.

The land this forest grew on was the domain of the family House Moonlight belonged to, and he led me through it with authority. My fears of being attacked were probably groundless. Probably. We walked protected ways, supposedly kept free of all danger. Sound familiar? How many childhood stories of caution and bloodshed began this way?

There was a stillness in the air, yet the forest felt more alive than I had ever experienced it to be. Slowly I became aware of the movement of the trees; their leaves sighing out a ghostly chorus. Softly, so softly that you doubted what you could really hear, came their wistful wave chanting...

"In our shade elves/ and pixies live/ to dance, to grow/ Kelpie mate by the rivers/ Goblins hunt the shadows/ humans gather the bounty of all/ birds sing of/ more than berries/ they croon of the world/ and how it begun/ and how it will end.../ ahhh/" the trees whispered, "How will it end?/ the First Swan is dying."

Ahead my guide moved on, heeding not the tree voices, though I knew they must have torn at his heart. This place was his home, this land his mother. And it was grieving.

On we went, through the forest, then out to frosted fields that had been tilled these many moons, that now sat dormant, awaiting the spring. In the distance, I could make out the faint shimmer of a lake silvered with ice. The land was under the thrall of Winter Father and an aurora of his making lit the sky. Everything seemed clear in the sky's pastel glow, details became white rimmed and dazzling. Breathing steam, I crushed to powder the brittle earth that had been piled up in farrows and stumbled after my companion. Quiet beauty lay on the land, I shivered and wondered what, if any, of it's magic would be left behind to fill up the void of the worlds passing.

Moonlight stopped to remove his cloak as we neared the lake, underneath he wore fine linen dyed the colour of first spring, there were small citrine crystals sewn along the seams. I felt a barbarian in my furs and home spun, no jewels but a plain copper torque and my charm of clay in the worn leather pouch at my throat. He pulled at the thong binding the waist length gold of his hair, a fashion his people favoured. It was so impractical in the forest, yet who would deny them the vanity?

It fell like silk down his back as I followed him, parting the bank reeds and slipping into the icy water. Long hair floated out behind him, save where a gem had been platted into the side. It winked in the twilight, a clear diamond that marked his place in the House of The Moon. Conscious of the freezing winds and half formed ice crystals; I forged on, determined to keep him in view.

We came at last to an islet; there we knelt shivering, as before us a scene of such beauty and sorrow played out as my mind could hardly hold onto. On the islets edge she lay, caught between sky and water, earth and tide. Wings spread wide, awkward and pitiable. Old, she was so old - and yet young also, a child full of wonder. To be dying so soon, when she had so much more still to do, it seemed cruel. Around us I felt others gathering, one each of all that she held dear. Her children. All that did share this world and held thought about it, and speed to travel to this place, at this time.

Eyes like softest velvet; black and deep regarded us with grief and pain. Beautiful, even in her agony, the snow-white swan with her single, ice like horn. She it was whose fashioning of the Whole world had created us; Her passing would scatter us. I felt useless, all that could be done was to watch, wait and weep. And remember. It was important that we remember. Then it was time, and in a moment I'll not forget all my days She raised Her elegant head and began to sing.

Such a song words alone could not describe. Surely, the secrets of life were hidden in its notes. It held the unwinding of a world, and it's remaking as something new, something simpler, that could outlast her passing. In separate plains, one of science, one of magic, they unfurled. New homes for all, broken, incomplete, yet real, and strong with possibilities. This much at least She could still give Her children, worlds divided by time and space, by the very laws that governed them. Both whole and of themselves, but lacking the balance that was the World we knew.

As the last notes faded and the Unicorn Swan lay down her head to die, I saw the Others begin to fade. The scant starlight seemed to splinter, and the snow clouds roiled and thinned, then disappeared.

At the last, just before the closing between worlds, something small and glittering fell towards me. Automatically I caught it and clasped it tight. My heart leapt, for there in my palm was the gem from the hair of the youngest elf. My soul sang with joy, for it would create a gate between the worlds, and where there was one, more could open.

As I tucked the precious gem into the pouch that held my clay charm, I vowed that one-day the song of the Unicorn Swan would be heard again. Returning wearily to the shore I sat and watched the moonrise. Only the one appeared, the Lady had lost her suitors to the Other world. I shall see them once more. I shall bring them back.

I arrived at my tumble down home at dawn to find every scrap of parchment blank, as if they had never been written on. Sighing I shook my head, then threw off my sodden robes and dressed in light linen. Into a satchel I placed my many writing tools and the now blank paper.

Then I set to straiten and tidy the few pieces of furniture, saying goodbye as I did so. This had not been such a bad place to call home. Taking some scraps to the waste pit, I found what I later learnt to call a pony. Similar, yet so different to other beasts that I had known, I marvelled at its sturdy beauty. Then I puzzled over it, for I had never owned a beast of burden, yet here it was, responding to my touch as if it were mine. What part would I have lived but for Moonlights gift in this new world? And what of him, how did the youngest elf fare, did he face a journey such as I now would undertake?

With uncertain heart I gathered my things and tied them onto the good beasts' back. With one final look at all that had been my home; I turned and strolled into a world suddenly come to spring. A good thing, I knew, else I should have died frozen in the lake this very night past.

It was lovely; in it's own way, this new land. But it's many differences and harsh realities soon made themselves known to me. Things were not as they once were. People were not as they once were. All those histories that I had labored to set down were now mere fantasy and half-remembered legends. I made it my task to bring them back to life, as Moonlight would be doing in his own, far away world.

So it went, and many years have past. The roll of time here has robbed humans of even their comparatively short life spans. Our lives are terribly brief. My travel between the worlds alone has kept me young, for which I am grateful. And though my work has brought back a little of the wonder, my labor is still not finished.

Sometimes I yearn for the marvels of the Other world, and then I part the veil and visit my elfin friend. Sometimes he grows tired of the static tranquillity of his home, and comes to me.

Together we work to fill the hollow places, to realign the melodies. Some there are who have joined us; indeed there are more gates now than I can keep count of. I hope the chasm will be breached soon. Together we still strive to restore the First Song of the Unicorn Swan. One day, we will succeed.