On the birthday of the king's first and only son, the prophet was issued the job.
He was shuffled into the birthing room where the queen lay with her son wrapped in blankets of fine silk and linen. The sound of the old prophet's voice echoed through the halls as words began spilling from his mouth. This began before he even saw the child. It was recorded for history's sake:
Lay he, the King of the Forest
He is as gentle as a dove
Powerful as a roaring lion is he
His days are that of the setting sun
The people will not know him
He will be neighbor to none
Wandering the lands he will have but seven
There will be no crown upon his head
He comes from the line of the king
A poor boy far beyond
He will live among the small
And the small will love him as their own.