The moon had a name.
    The mortal residents of Home had given it names of their own devising, of course. The Watcher In the Night, Shepherd of Souls, The Ferryman. Stories were created and told about the moon in those little moments when the farmers were overlooking their fields in the otherworldly light of midnight. Why it never waxed or waned but still changed faces. Why it was surrounded by an ever-shifting haze of minute stars.
    So the moon of Home had a name, plucked from the great collective unconsciousness of the homesteaders. And in choosing a name, it had become something else. It guided souls, coaxing them into relinquishing the fetters that chained them to the living world, quietly giving them a guiding light into their next life. The memories, passions, and sins of the dead washed away by the fey being that had become the moon. The dreams of the living and the dead had changed it somehow, and this fact it had come to understand. It was unsure when it realized it had a name, for time was a new concept and still difficult.
    It knew it was called Lethe, the River of Souls.
    Lethe was troubled, for it somehow knew that the homesteaders were doomed to stagnation. Fears had intruded upon it during its nightly sojurns; of children born without souls and mourning parents. Yet it knew that in /becoming/, it had lost the generative abilities of the unshaped beasts beyond the world's edge. But perhaps it could show the little shaped ones how to craft new sparks to animate their shells.
    That is how the Vision in White, Emissary of Lethe, came to wait at the gates of Ot.