Let your spirit not depart gladly, Great One, But harshly to those who come. Of all the days, may this be the worst For those who ill use you. Die in battle; make of your branches swords, Of your twigs needles to tear, Of your sap poison to burn, Of your trunk a crushing weight. Die as you have lived, Ift-friend, Ift-protector, That your seedlings may spring anew. This be our promise, Iftsiga - Your seed shall sprout with ours. Ift-blood, sap-blood, shall be as one. Ift to tree, tree to Ift! Andre Norton, "Victory on Janus"

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