theinkpot

I'm sitting here on a stump in the middle of a clearcut watching the sun come up over the top of the treeline. There are tears running down my face and a rifle's in my hands, though I'd almost forgot it was there. If I look down for a moment, I know I'll see a ratty old gray scarf there on the trampled underbrush. I also know that if I look at it again, I'll have to make a decision. I woke up yesterday morning pretty excited. Hunting season had officially begun, and I'd been scoping out this new clearcut on top of Mount Wayland for a couple weeks. A clearcut's a good place to bag a deer, and they finished logging this one off last month. So

Turning of the Hunter's Moon Cycle of the Dance Breathing of the Ancient Faith Under twilight's expanse Wooing of the Silverlight Drinking of the earth Autumn's heart has stolen time Offering to the newly birthed Candlenight calling deep within Deepest roots of the Elder Green Sacred Nine to part the mists Time beyond time is seen Turning of the Final Hour Returning of the Day Falling deep in the earth's embrace My heart calls to the OnceWays.

"I need you to do something with me. I need you to trust me and do whatever I tell you to do." You're about to make a joke to deny the sudden, inexplicable feeling of nervous anticipation that flutters through your body when something causes you to hesitate. There's something in his eyes that you've never seen before; a lonely, desperate look that begs for your acceptance and support. You find yourself slowly nodding in assent. He reaches into his pocket to produce a small, round piece of grey-green chalk, which he holds out to you. His face is serious as his eyes regard you evenly. "Breathe on this." You blink in confusion and start to