The following is a translation of pictograph murals found within the ruins of a Stone-Nest temple. Its original author is unknown, and the College of Tomes has yet to match the depicted fable with the recorded oral traditions currently available.

* * *
The morning of the ceremony, Sheer-Eeto practiced the rite of submergence.
She danced beneath glimmering moonlight. Tears shining, claws trembling.
For the village she would lose herself to the River.
And this, she thought, was for the best.
But then there was a voice.

"Little one, my budding spore. What if there was more?"
Sheer-Eeto found the voice bubbling beneath old-mother roots.
An amber egg, small and warm. Life squirming beneath its surface.
"Little one," the egg said, "sing me a song of the cerulean sea."
"Sea?" Sheer-Eeto asked, "what do you mean?"
"The sea, the great sea, where serpents writhe and storms shout. Tell me you know if it?"
Sheer-Eeto had never left her small village, but a blossom bloomed in her mind.
Visions of great—ships! A new word for kalli larger than those that crossed rivers.
"Ships," the egg said, knowing her thoughts, "how clever you are, my budding spore."
"Cross the sea with me," the egg said, "there is so much of the world to see."
Another word new and bright—world.

The elders scoffed. Her parents screamed. The other children cried.
But the amber egg hummed a song to calm their minds.
And so the work began.
The trees between old-mother and the river were cut and shaped.
And soon these ships followed the river to the boundless cerulean sea.
"Tell me," said Sheer-Eeto, keeper of the egg, "of what we sail toward."
The amber egg sat quite in her arms until, softly, "more. There is more."

After many moons a great stone rose from the horizon.
The ships landed up an—island. A home.
The amber egg shook and sung a jubilant song.
"Bury me, little one. Place me in soil and you will have a home."
And so she did. And so it grew.
Its roots tore the earth and pulled forth stone which they carved into familiar homes.

"Little one," the amber tree sang, "my dear budding spore, how do you like this home?"
I liked it very much, Sheer-Eeto thought, and the tree sang jubilant and bright.
"Will you sing me a song," Sheer-Eeto asked, "one of this more you wished to find."
"More," the amber tree sang, "we will reach out more and more until the horizon is amber with our song. Amber with our will. Amber with our—."
But the song ended. Its final notes strained and cold.

Sheer-Eeto, keeper of the egg, danced the rite of submergence once more and gave herself not to the River, but the Stone, the egg's final gift.
And so she became the foundation of their new home, the island of Oztet-Ta.
The amber egg's sprouting root.