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—transcribed from the oral tradition by an unknown author—
Sing, Valenwood, shout Green
Tell the tale of the mover, the shaper,
the one, the Wilderking.
His eye projects outward to the world
and touches everything he perceives:
by his thoughts he shapes it.
Do you know where to find him?
Have you looked to the hills?
Have you looked to the trees?
He is not there.
Because "there" is a place, and a place has boundaries,
but The Wilderking is boundless.
His is the Court and the Throne.
He is the Court and the Throne.
When he walks, his footfalls fall on himself.
And who does not hear his footfalls and quake?
The earth shakes at his coming,
at the rising of his Hollow from the earth.
Like the delicate calm of an undisturbed pool
is shattered by the smallest of stones,
so is the terrible force of the Wilderking's passing.
Shout, Bramblebreach! Wail, Shadows Watch!
The Wilderking is friend and foe,
Foe and friend to both.
For who can record his footsteps on the land,
who can hear the melody of his voice,
when he opens his mouth to sing?