A mistake has been made. The kind and gentle bird king Shren had been on a pilgrimage around the forest shrines of the inventory when one of the racon crocklets, hunting buffalo cogs, sees movement and fires. The crocklet may as well have shot himself, as the guilt he feels is so violent and heartfelt that it nearly crushes him there and then. He knew how revered and loved this gentle king was. In his grief, he decides to take the poor dead monarch and his crown back to his people and own up to his grave error. When he reaches the place where he knew Shren's kingdom to be there is nothing but an empty valley. In the centre of the valley is a wren's egg and in the sand next to it is written a rhyme:
'if we are gone, our king is dead.
now place his crown upon your head.
with this done, we shall return,
to our new king with lessons learned.'
'if we are gone, our king is dead.
now place his crown upon your head.
with this done, we shall return,
to our new king with lessons learned.'
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