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Forward he moves, remembering nothing,
no movement and cry of the People
no hunt at the head of the movement
no horizons no crossing moons of the naming
nights.
He has left them behind him utterly,
surrendering all to the skin full of light,
of dark, of darkness boiling in light,
bone and muscle giving way
in imagined tunnels
of plains and movement.
Something behind him
sings in his ear, his left eye shining
straight through mirages
to the edge of the world,
and the smell of the blood is fading
to the smell of rock of water
and of things below rock and water
wise and lethal and good beyond thought.
Upright, out of the leopard's salvation
he stalks into light,
his first and his last skin
recalled and surrendered,
robed once more in the long dream shining.
There in a temple of rock,
cold, insubstantial as rain
cold as the silence of stone,
lies the Staff it is singing, singing
ARISE, YOU HAVE EARNED THIS PEACE
AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD,
BEHIND YOU A VANISHING COUNTRY.
TAKE ME UP LIKE A TROPHY,
LIKE A THIRD MOON IN THE SKY FAMILIAR,
AND INSTEAD OF THE ARM OF THE CHIEFTAIN, BECOME
THE CHIEFTAIN HIMSELF,
THE LORD OF A LAND OF LEOPARDS,
and Riverwind cold
as the silence of stones,
remembering the edge of the sky,
the dead children walking,
and the staff shines sudden
in the reach of his hand refusing.
There in his grasp the world rolls,
at the back of his head the voice of the leopard
descends into words, is singing
LIE DOWN, GIVE THIS AWAY AT ONCE,
GIVE THIS AWAY BEFORE IT BEGINS,
OUR SON, OUR YOUNG ONE,
FOR YOU CAN LEAM NOTHING OF THIS MYSTERY,
NOTHING FROM THIS MYSTERY
BUT DRY GRASS BUT DARK BUT YEARNING
BUT THE GRAVES OF YOUR CHILDHOOD
OPEN TO MOONLIGHT,
AND THE DEAD
THE UNSPEAKING DEAD YOU SEE
WHERE THE SKY MEETS THE PLAINS
WILL BE ALWAYS YOUR OWN, APPROACHING
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