'Twas in Menevia, dear, green Menevia, there dwelt a young Breton of family and name. He had inherited a patrimony, and thus needed to do nothing, as others were paid to do for him. And so he sat at his mullioned window and gazed out the diamond panes at the colors of the countryside as they changed with the light. And he dreamed away the day, until the colors darkened and he betook himself to bed, where he slumbered and dreamed in truth. And soon you shall join him. The Nightcaller has dreamed it. One night you shall dream, and in your dream you will say the Name. And She will come.