Afternoon sunlight poured through the round window into the small cluttered cottage. Among the piles of ancient books and scrolls sat an old man, deep in thought. Old Greplog paused, staring at the ceiling as if seeking wisdom. Worry had etched deep furrows in his forehead. Shaking his gray head, he muttered to himself. "How can it be? I see rivers of blood. I see famine, disease and death. I feel some ancient evil awakening to threaten us all. So many prophesies. All of them pointing to this year for the fulfillment of these things. But wait, yes I see and even greater good. What does it all mean? It is certain that these will be perilous times if we do not dance the moons...." He briefly shuffled papers around until he found the one he was looking for. Holding it up to the light he read aloud. "When the three moons in harvest full in sacred triangle stand; then dance the dance and pay their due lest tragedy stalk the land... We cannot allow anything to prevent us holding the moon festival. May the High King have mercy on us." Greplog bowed his head in prayer.