"Þennan dag lofum við Poseidon, eldri en orð, eldri en heimur mannanna, hestasmiður, öldumeistari, veitir mönnum alls þess er oss flutti af landi til lands, vinur kaupmanns og kaupmanns, Ó guð sem lagði steinana sem við byggðum brýr okkar á, grunnurinn sem ber lífið sem við búum til. Póseidon, jarðskjálfti, handhafi beina heimsins, forn, voldugur, nöfn þín og titlar glataðir að tímanum, kraftur þinn falinn í hafsbotni og sprungu, haldið í skefjum af gæsku þinni og velvild, við þökkum þér fyrir miskunn þína, fyrir umhyggjuna sem þú sýnir mannkynsins. Þegar næturnar lengjast og öldurnar hrífast, við gleðjumst yfir gjöfum þínum, við þökkum fyrir margvíslegar blessanir þínar, óþverrandi," he says quietly, standing in the middle of the river. Moonlight cascades down into the forest, reflections dancing along the river. In his hands, he holds a pine tree branch above the water. His head is bowed, eyes closed, as he prays for advice from his Enesidaon (Earth-Shaker). The Snow-Aquatic Elf war has raged on for almost thirty-two years now. It's come to a point where the Snow Elves are invading the swamps, seas, oceans, creeks, and any place that belongs to the Aquatic Elves. Caspian murmurs a few more praises before placing the pine tree branch into the water, letting it float down the stream. He stays in the water, though, the feeling of powerful water connecting him to the world comforting him ever so slightly. He'd lost his brothers in the war years ago, yet he feels responsible for their deaths. He shouldn't have let them go. It was a mistake, on Caspian's end. But at least they died with great honor. "This needs to stop," he murmurs, his voice low. Just as he turns to wade out of the water, the snap of a branch to his left near a pine tree makes him halt. Instinctively, he grabs his dagger, turns, and slowly wades a few steps closer to the tree on land. "Hello?" he says, a frown on his face. Angry caution bubbles within him. At first, there's nothing. Then, a flutter, and your face pokes out from your hiding spot.