Elothenelle was one of the First Ones. She remembered still awaking on the cool sand of the beach to see the morningstar greet the rising sun. As the sun's first ray of gold pierced the sky she had known who she was, where she came from, and what she was to do. She stood up and felt a breeze swirl around her, "I am Ellothenelle, a daughter of Iaretar, Creator of the World�" she told the breeze. As she gazed about her, she saw that there were bodies strewn across the shore as far as she could see a wave of smooth white skin and silky black hair arising to welcome the sun. Their eyes shone with the colours of the rainbow, their features were delicate and fey, and their limbs long and supple. These were her people, the Taraine, and as they greeted the first day of their lives they gathered together and began to sing a hymn of praise to Iaretar.

As their voices gathered together, the Taraines' words were made real, for on that day the music of creation still echoed through the world. They lifted up their voices to join in harmony with the Song of Making, and their hopes and dreams became flowers, clouds, palaces, mountains, and golden harps. Indeed all manners of things beautiful and graceful were made, as the words of this choir became real.

Some sang not of things seen in dreams, but of being new things themselves. Those who looked upon the sea sang of waves and sea spume and leaping schools of fish, and dove into the waves to leap out of the sea changed. Their long legs were turned to a finned tail as they swam down into the deeps and breathed in the salty waters. They sat upon rocks off the shore and sang praises to Iaretar, and dolphins and seabirds and angelfish danced around them. These were the Nueraines, the Children of the Deep.

A flock of birds soared above the Taraines, feathers glinting in the sun, and Taraines far and near sang soaring and diving and piercing the mystery hidden with clouds, and soon they sprouted wings of silver and gold and their manes of hair turned to iridescent plumes, and these singers soared upwards, taking to the air to fly over land and sea. The world heard the song of the winged choir as their words were lifted up on the wind, and all knew these were the Kessellaines.

A herd of stags gamboled amongst the trees on the hills overlooking the shore, silvery hooves and antlers twinkling as the last stars glimmering before dawn overtook them, snow white fur catching the red and gold rays of the sun's ascent into the purple sky. Their hoof-beats thundered down to the shore, echoing, and the Taraine who watched the herds sang in time to the pounding. Running after the wild white stags, they sang of leaping and running and the wind in their hair and clashing antlers in mock battles, and as they did they grew soft fur over their legs, hooves on their feet, and antlers upon their heads. Wild they were, lusting for freedom and pleasure, disdaining wealth and position. These dancing, brawling, laughing wildlings were the Melaines.

Elothenelle laughed in wonder and butterflies flew out of her mouth. She ran up the shore to the foothills and the ground beneath her feet pushed her forward to her goal at the top of the wooded hills, plants and rocks moving aside to let her pass. At the top of the hill, surrounded by lush trees and grass, she looked down the far side of the hill into a newborn meadow with wildflowers and heather growing wild and saw a galloping herd of steeds with white fur and manes of gold, and gave chase, singing in time to their hoof-beats. She saw a mare beneath her as she ran down the hill to the meadow and leapt toward it, lofted up by her joy, and landed on its sleek back. The mare whinnied and Elothenelle hugged its neck and sang of running through meadows and laughing with the wind and the scent of fresh grass. The world looked shimmery and molten as she sang, but it was Elothenelle and her steed who became a liquid blur as she sang, and in a twinkling she became one with the mare. "I am become Roshaine..." she sang as she galloped her four thundering hooves and felt her tail flick at the wind. Other Taraine saw her galloping over the hills at the head of the wild herd of horses and heard her song as she whinnied to the music of creation, and they ran up hills and over glens to join her wild song, and soon every steed in the herd had a noble Taraine torso with a ruddy, fey visage atop its shoulders, as new Roshaine galloped and laughed and sang together behind their queen, Elothenelle.