THE WHITE WOLVES

        The Silver Queen is far, today; 
        Our master Hunter, gone away; 
        We wolves are left nearby to stay; 
        Yes. Now is time for us to play -- 
        Spill our blood, the Land will say: 
        'Here's strength for us, and pain you'll pay!'

INVITATION TO RAINBOWS

        If you will, forgive our skill 
        with poems we shall furnish.
        We think in time you'll find our rhymes 
        are rather deadly earnest.

        And some might say, that if you pay
        attention you shall learn; 
        if you'd be wise, a greater price 
        shall these, our secrets, earn.

        So, come with me, be company
        In my Lord's colored court;
        An offer's made, of shelter, shade
        As guests, my Prince reports.

BENEDICT'S OFFER

        What's this I see? 
        An anger bright and pure?
        Has't come to me
        To show it can endure?

        Well, well, I say!
        A connoiseur of rage...
        A mortal's way
        To ignore life's next page.

        I've remedy
        My good and mortal knave
        A melody
        Which might your woman save

        It's simple, yes
        Just decide upon a price
        And I will bless
        With forgetfulness of mice

OSRIC'S OFFER

        A mortal man with hunter's mien
        The like of which I've sometime seen
        Upon a horse, in hand, a lance
        And armored in pale circumstance

        He's your better, though spawned of you
        With arcane skills, you know it true
        I wonder, friend, if offer's made,
        Accepted, then, and price is paid

        You'll understand, and then discern
        His power's nature, your concern...
        So come on now, things can't get worse
        The answer is in my next verse.

        He's more than rat made as one man
        He's two, or three, all by his plan
        Title taken -- as Hunter, seen:
        Though White, he's found a secret, green.

CYRUS' OFFER

        Your daughter's gone a-falling
        She cannot tell you where
        Your daughter's gone a-falling
        Into some spider's lair

        Your daughter's gone a-falling
        Her down-flight has been traced
        Your daughter's gone a-falling
        And would you like a taste?

        Your daughter's gone a-falling
        A glimpse, I'll give to you
        Your daughter's gone a-falling
        Just tell me what you'll do

SONNET'S TRAP

        O come along, my sweet-sung song
        And sit: I'll spin for you a tale.
        Your time is short, and my life, long,
        Among these things so bright and pale.
    
        Your life is leashed by fate and name
        To those pretenders you call kings
        And you and I know it's the same
        Were you to play as prettier things
    
        Perhaps it is you want an out
        From your father's obligations
        And yet you do not have the clout
        To have your inclinations

        And while I cannot help you there in mortal matters so,
        I'll give you this, now stay aware: back to the sun you'll go.

FINNDO'S OFFER

        What happened to our little boy
        What thief stole his emotion
        What sparkling thing ate up his joy
        When down upon the ocean

        Why did he grow so tall and fair
        When his heart turned into dust
        How could he strive, how could he dare
        When all he does is what he must

        Will he live long with heavy heart?
        Will succor come from duty?
        Or will his life come soon apart
        His price paid for her beauty?

        We'll grant you then, an answer, true
        If an offer can be made;
        If our next prize has come from you,
        Your lover's end, a vision-trade.

SYBIL'S COLORFUL RIDDLE

        Follow your mother where she's gone, 
        and soon you'll face, within that place,
        its alabaster master.

        Three silver belles will ring the tone,
        and tell with grace, where you might trace,
        if courage you can muster.

        By then you'll be just dust and bone,
        cast in mortal lace: ah, what disgrace...
        but that is your disaster.

        Now, what I've had to say, is done;
        it's time to race: pick up the pace,
        and hope that you are faster.

A HINT OF SILVER

        Ding, dong, dell - 
        The Silver Queen's
        been sent to Hell.

        Twitch and scratch - 
        You'll find the way
        through brambles' patch.

        Do you dare?
        When at the end,
        you'll soon be there.