The Tree stands where all roads of wind and stone meet. Each year, it withdraws, only to return where the veil thins. To see it is to be chosen. To lead the people to it is my sworn duty. The Festival of Roots must never falter, for in its branches rests the balance of the Isles.
(Fragments gathered from the Bifrost Isles, preserved on birch-parchment, tanned seal-hide, and rune-etched driftwood. Not all entries are whole, nor trustworthy.)
Of all wonders the isles cradle, none holds such weight as the Shifting Tree. Some name it Yggdrasil, some call it the Root Between Stars, yet even those names are but shadows. For the tree is not fixed in place as mortal forests are. It walks, though no footfalls are heard, and it vanishes, though no mist or snow conceals it.
The Arch Druid alone is said to hold the knowing, for their eyes are taught by the breath of the isles themselves. When others search, they find only ordinary pines and willows where once the roots were said to pierce the world.