#wild needs a little buffering sign above his head

[konako]

I WANT SUM SHEPARD AND THE WOLF- I STAN THAT 3 LITTLE PIGS WHY DIDNT YOU WRITE FOR OUAT DA HECK

BECAUSE IT WOULD BECOME A RUBY CENTRIC SHOW AND I WOULD TURN IT INTO A SHAMELESS HAREM

The Shepard and The Wolf – should have been  a blossoming bromance born of brooding bloated b… jealousy.

This is a blanket story for the dynamic of David and Ruby. It starts when they first meet, and ends with their ends, much like Snow and Regina’s grand narrative.

But the core of it (and the moral of the story) takes place in FTL, before the Dark Curse.

Snow White meets Red first, and it’s Red who introduces her to this wild world of survival, living in the forest, fighting with her fists, fending for herself. Snow White before Red was a hopeless runaway princess, hiding in strangers cabins and stealing eggs – nothing like the Snow White that met Charming, years later.

Point is, Snow White and Red share a history together. We know Red owes her life to Snow; she stood by Red through the worst of her wolf, through the loss of Peter, Anita, her identity, everything. But – Snow wouldn’t have survived without Red’s teachings, Red’s guidance, Red’s wild spirit. Snow White, too, owes her life to Red.

And, in this story, Charming has a hard time understanding that at first.

Charming meets an independent, strong, fierce Snow White. Fearless and so smart… Charming falls in love. Deeply. And so does Snow. It’s True Love, after all. Buuuuut, things start to get complicated.

Aside from Charming’s whole thing of pretending to be his twin brother, a Prince, and having to marry King Midas’ daughter, we have the bigger problem: Regina is after Snow White. And after all of the issues are solves in Charming’s end, the great obstacle, and the reason they need all of their forces, is the Evil Queen and the War that is brewing.

Charming knows Snow White has some strange friends. Fairies, dwarves, huntsmen… she’s had a long and tough journey before she met Charming, and he understands she’s made some curious friendships, but – when a werewolf comes through their door, Charming is genuinely afraid.

He’s learned how to fight – he had to be a convincing Prince, and his previous life as a Shepard taught him one thing or two. Most importantly, he learned what to be cautious of. The sheep knew, and so did he. A Wolf is not good company.

And wan’t that the kind that turned during a full moon? Large teeth, paws eight inches across, big long claws…? Those were dangerous, right?

I mean, fairies and dwarves are one thing, but…. werewolves? There has never been a sign of a friendly werewolf! There were always human-hating monsters. Sure, fairies are light and good and grant wishes, that’s cute. Dwarves can be rude and inappropriate, but nothing too serious. But a werewolf? Is Snow serious? Has her hopefulness gone too far? Isn’t she being too trusting, too kind, too… blind?

It’s immediately clear: Charming doesn’t trust Red.

Snow tries her best to convince him that he has nothing to be scared of; that Red has the kindest heart she has ever seen; that Red saved her life; that there isn’t an evil bone in Red’s body – but Charming is smarter than that. Red is a wolf in woman’s clothing.

And it’s not like she’s not a good person. She tries to befriend him. There’s a stiffness to her, though. She stares at him for too long, when he’s with Snow. Her smiles seem weak and falter when he puts his arms around Snow’s shoulder. Her eyes lose some of their color, when he kisses Snow. And he can swear he once heard her growl low in her throat in her sleep.

Wolves are territorial creatures, and Red was once Snow’s once friend. And Charming believes he was discovered the problem: Red is threathened by his presence. Somehow, she’s claimed Snow for herself (like a werewolf does), and will not allow Charming near. But he is Snow White’s true love and he isn’t going anywhere – so she is pissed. And he knows an angry werewolf cannot be trusted. So he doesn’t. Not even a little. Not even once.

Not when they’re running from King George’s men. Not when they’re fighting the Dark Knights of the Queen. Not when they’re huddling together for warmth in a cold night – Snow in the middle as a buffer. Always in the middle, as a buffer.

Charming always keeps an eye on her. He never lets his guard down. When they fight, he never turns his back to her, in case the Wolf bloods takes over in the heat of battle. He always keeps his hands on his sword longer than necessary, long after the fight is over and they are regrouping and Red comes join them, blood on her lips, eyes slightly golden and a little breathless.

It takes Snow putting her hand on his, to calm him down.

But he doesn’t trust Red. And he is vocal about it. To Snow, at least. He cries danger.

“Snow, be careful. Snow, don’t get too close. Snow, please, she’s dangerous. Snow, no. Snow, come back. Snow”

Snow doesn’t listen, but he keeps on crying.

Until the day Snow is not there, to act as a buffer.

She’s kidnapped. A vicious bounty hunter that has been tracking them for months – that slipped through the cracks of mistrust and inner conflicts – he gets to them and takes Snow, in the middle of the night. A night when Red is off running and Charming was supposed to keep a loo -out, but Snow had insisted that he joined her in bed – that Red would howl if there was any danger.

But she doesn’t. And Charming doesn’t see it coming. The man takes Snow in the middle of the night, as she leaves bed to use the bathroom. He just takes her, and Charming wakes up to her screaming.

He runs to them, fast enough to see them taking off on a horse, disappearing into the dark forest. He sees the details on the man’s bag, and he knows who the stranger is (insert coincidental backstory here idk). But he is not fast enough to catch them, and falls to his knees, crying.

Red appears behind him, after his tears have dried and his already up, gathering his weapons.

“Where were you?! Why didn’t you sound off the alarm? He took her!”

Red fights to have a word in.

“You were the one with her! Why didn’t you do anything?!”

“We trusted you would protect us-”

“You never trusted me!”

“And now I know why!”

Red can’t keep fighting like this. She once was used to arguing – with Granny and Peter, but it was always about pointless things, never… never her very existence, her nature, her… worthlessness. She can’t argue, because she agrees with him.

But Charming doesn’t mind that he’s hurt Red. He’s blinded with rage, and he’s putting on his armor.

“Where are you going?” Red asks.

“Where do you think? After them!”

Red nods. “If I turn, I can catch them–”

“No! I will find them! Snow’s my responsibility, not yours”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean–! Oh, you know what I mean. I have to find her.”

Red bites her lips. “I’m faster than you. I’m faster than a horse. I can find them. I’ll track Snow’s scent.” She starts getting ready, too. Her hands are on her cloak, again “It’s not far. I can still smell her. If I go now–”

Charming grabs her by her forearm, and it startles her. Green eyes are wide, staring at him. “No. I’ll go.”

“This is not the time for a competition” Red easily pulls her arm out of his grip. Her temper is getting worse. It’s a full moon, and Charming has a way of getting under her skin. “I’m going. You can stay here, and resent me, all you want”

Red turns to leave again, but Charming runs in front of her and gets in her way. He has his sword drawn, and it takes a moment for Red to register the offense fully. Honestly, she didn’t expect things to get this far.

“Red. I’m not asking you.” His voice is a warning.

“What do you think I’ll do, Charming?” She mocks the nickname. “Snow White is my friend. I will get her back, that’s it” She finishes, but makes no attempt to move.

Charming is silent, but his eyes say everything. “Why didn’t you warm us?”

Red suppresses a snarl at the implication. “I didn’t hear him coming. I was busy”

Charming presses his finger harder around the hilt of the sword. “Doing what?”

Red breathes. “What do you think?” It’s a challenge. One Charming doesn’t accept. “What do you expect of me?”

“I expected a look-out”

“That’s a lie. You never trusted me.” Red steps closer, until the tip of the sword touches her chest. It’s not silver, so it’s not a problem. “And now, they are getting away, because you can’t trust me to bring her back”

Charming doesn’t have a response, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. “I don’t trust you to keep her safe. Not like this” He runs his eyes over her entire body, and Red realizes what he means – her temper and the full moon above their heads. “You were running to stay away from us, right? To keep us safe from the Wolf? So stay away. Please”

His pleading is hollow, and Red is pissed. She breathes in. “I was running to clear my head. I’m not a danger. I’ve got my wolf under control”

Charming is breathing heavily now. It’s his tell, that he’s scared. “It doesn’t seem like that to me”

“You are the one pointing the sword at me”

Charming seems self-conscious, but it’s not enough to get his guard down. “I’m going after Snow–”

“I’m the best at this! I can run faster, I can track her scent, I can get her back safely to your arms. She’ll still love you more, don’t worry–”

Red stops herself, but it’s too late. She’s already said it. Fuck. She bites at her lips. Fucking full moon.

“I’m not…” She tries again. “I’m not going to run away with her, Charming,” She sounds utterly tired, now. “I’ll bring her back to you.”

Charming is not backing down. “I shouldn’t need you”

“But you do,” Red tries not to growl. “You’ve waited too long, now I’m our best chance at getting her back, okay?”

“You should have sounded the alarm–”

“I didn’t hear anything–!”

“She shouldn’t have been taken–!”

“I was running, I thought you were taking care of her–!”

“I should have been!”

It echoes.

Now Charming messed up. Nice. “… I should have been. From the start. I shouldn’t… need you.”

Red frowns. She doesn’t know what to say. “You don’t need me. Snow does.” A moment. “Or… Snow did. Up until…” She motions her hand to Charming, but says nothing. “I helped her when she needed me, and she helped me back. We’re friends. We’re at War. Help is needed. That’s all it is…”

Charming watches her for a moment. She’s got a point. But, still, there’s… something about her. Confusing energy and rough breathing. A full moon. 

He put his sword back, yet somehow it does little to defuse the tension.

“It’s a full moon,” he says, simply, as if it’s enough of an argument.

“Good. It means I’ll be at my fastest” Red’s answer is nervous.

“It means a close confrontation is dangerous. One thing is a vast army in an open field. Another is a one-to-one fight in a dense forest – with Snow held hostage”

It takes a second for the insult to reach Red. “You’re kidding.”

Charming switches to his commanding voice, and Red’s skin itches.

“Let me find Snow. Keep clearing your head. Stay”

Ooooh, that word does something to Red.

Stay.

Like a dog. Like the countless comments she pretends not to hear from afar. Like the jokes Grumpy tells and Charming sometimes smiles at. Like the tail between our legs.

It does it, for Red. She just pushes forward, past him, into the forest. He yells at her back to stay. But she’s done listening to him. He runs after her and grabs at her cloak to hold her back. There’s a resistance at first, but then the knot is undone, and Charming falls back.

Shit gets real. The cloak is ripped off of Red’s shoulders, and just like that, the Wolf is out.

Charming falls on his ass, and the Wolf stops in its track. Oh, shit, shit.

Charming stumbles up to his feet again, as the Wolf turns to him, the dark fur almost indistinguishable from the night around.

“Red…” He whispers, hand held in front of his body.

The Wolf steps towards him, then stops. They stare at each other. Golden eyes fall down to the blade, then up at Charming again. It’s a question. Will you use it?

Charming gulps. “Please. I have to get her back.”

A huge paw stumps on the ground, and Charming almost jumps back. Almost.

“Please…”

The Wolf steps even closer, and Charming fights to stand his ground. Slowly, the Wolf turn back, towards the depths of the forest, and looks over its shoulder, to Charming.

It’s an invitation.

The Wolf lowers its head, then its body. Charming finally understands the command. Come on.

It takes a lot for him to move. His mind races, as he considers the danger, the leap of faith. The man getting rapidly getting away with Snow, and the only chance Charming’s got to reach them and save her.

It truly takes a lot, but, slowly, his hand lets go of the sword. 

On shaky feet, he gets closer, and with even shakier hands, he grabs onto the thick mane around the Wolf’s neck, swinging his leg over the beast’s back, and sitting on top of it.

He can feel the vibrations of a silent growl under his body, but before his fear can permanently set it, the Wolf is already taking off at full speed, into the forest.

Charming’s never been so fast in his life. The tree pass him in a blur, and he has no idea where they are going. The strong strides barely touch the ground, but shake his entire body with a force he’s sure will bruise him.

It’s strangely empowering. His fears are quickly dulled in comparison to this. This speed and strength. He’s never felt so strong before. Never so sure of his chances. This is the most powerful he has ever been. 

It doesn’t take a minute for them to catch up to the man. Never was a horse so slow and a chase so short.

The Wolf jumps over them, and lands in front of their path, blocking their way. Charming struggles to keep his balance on top of the Wolf, as he takes his sword out once again.

“Red! Charming!” Snow cries for them, a huge smile on her wet cheeks. “What…?”

The horse is startled by the Wolf, and the man can’t keep it still. They fall off of it, and Snow falls to the side. Charming gets off the Wolf and runs to her, helping her up.

Meanwhile, the man is getting up, rubbing at his head. The Wolf growls a loud, terrifying sound and the horse runs away, leaving the hunter alone, without his weapons.

Charming hugs Snow close to his body, and they join the Wolf’s side, facing the man. Bared teeth and a sharp sword, pointed at him. He’s caught, he can’t outrun a wolf or fight a Prince. He surrenders, getting on his knees and raising his hands above his head.

The heroic moment is savored.

Charming, the Wolf and Snow, standing side by side, a good team. The silence of victory is sweet and all, but Snow has to comment. She looks over at them, one on each side of her.

“Took you two long enough”

And it has more than one meaning.

And so they stand there. Snow rubs behind the Wolf’s ears and pull its head close against her body, hugging the fluffy mane. With her other hand, she hold Charming’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder.

The Wolf grunts and huffs at the proximity, and Charming is still stiff and sweaty, but it’s a start… 

It’s a start.

[sedehaven]

Hope’s Last Stand

For Matt Brown.

 The full wrath of the noon sun fell upon the fleeing Beltaines, though it only just peeked over the East Hills. The usual morning bustle of the market had fallen before the chaos of the Beltaines’ hurried rush to the safety of the forest. Possessions were stuffed into sacks, and those sacks loaded onto animals, carts, or human backs. Looters rooted around the broken doors of shops for supplies. A child wailed in its crib, forgotten by parents who decided to make the trek unburdened. Beside the grainery, the miller lay dead by the hands of his neighbors. His mill lay open and ravished, stripped to the beams in search of stocks of food. His wife and daughter, still dazed from the ravishing that they had received, clung to one another with grim determination. A long, winding procession of human misery trudged over the litter in the streets. It would take them three days to reach the Deep Forest, where their chieftain promised safety.

The High General spied all of this in the depths of a handmade Seeing Orb. The powerful enchantments allowed the High General to travel through the streets of Beltaine Town from the safety of the flagship Revelation. Revelation led an armada of twenty-five warships, which approached the southern shore of the Beltaine lands.

The destruction pleased the High General. Few, like the miller’s family, refused their chieftain’s orders. This, too, pleased the High General. Nothing pleased the High General so much as the goings-on in a small, smoky hut near the town square. Women in long veils bustled in and out of that building, bearing cool water, herbs, and soiled bandages.

Wisdom was dying. It was plain to see. Every line in her face stood in roaring contrast to her pale garments. Her tendons strained. The dark circles under her eyes had begun to sink into her cheeks. To look at her, one would think that she had been bled.

She had not. These rustics knew nothing of modern medicine. They proffered their herbs, their blessed water, their pastes and ointments. It was for not. Wisdom was dying glutted on bad blood.

On the other side of the town square, the church rang its bells and threw open its doors. Thus began a different procession.

The Potentials glowed in the harsh sun. A terrible halo outlined their long, white vestments. They seemed to float in their head-to-toe veils. One large and one small, they moved slowly through the streets as weeping women three handfuls of flower petals over their heads. The church bells pealed. In spite of the fanfare and the entourage, the villagers paid them scant attention--their eyes were to the sea or to the forest.

The High General approached. Nobody cared about the old woman dying in her hut. She could not save them. Neither could the Potentials.

The Potentials seemed willing enough to follow ancient tradition. Slowly, they wended their way through the town center three times, stepping over broken glass, chunks of wood, and the children and the lame, who had been left behind. The women who escorted them wailed louder with each turn around the town center. Only one child came to watch the procession, and she was hurriedly scooped up by her father as the two Potentials entered the smoke-filled hut that Wisdom would die in.

Wisdom beckoned the Potentials, and they moved to the edge of her bed. Now, on the eve of war, the greatest Priestess that the Beltaines had ever known, took the silver circlet that marked her place in Beltaine society and regarded it for a moment. It was a plain piece, as far as Beltaine jewelrycraft went, just a circle of metal with a sharp point that laid evenly between the eyes. Still, the power of hundreds of priestesses flowed inside it.

Slowly, Wisdom stretched her shaking hand out to the small, veiled form.

“Hope…” And with that word, Wisdom died.

The women howled, running into the streets to announce the news. Someone pulled the circlet from Wisdom’s cooling hands and laid it on Hope’s brow, careful not to cut through the gauzy material of her veil with the point of the circlet. The other Potential, Prudence, dropped her long veil and ran out of the hut.

Wisdom’s death had occurred exactly as planned. A slow, lazy smile spread the High General’s lips and showed her very white teeth. Wisdom had chosen correctly. Hope, a slip of a girl only one turn into her acolyte training, had more raw talent for Beltaine magic than Wisdom had in her youth. Prudence, a full priestess with ten turns experience in the cloth, had borne five children. Wisdom knew that a mother’s heart holds no room for duty to state, and so she chose the girl.

Truth be told, the High General had always valued raw talent over experience. She respected the old woman’s decision.

Even if that decision hastened the end of the Beltaines.

The High General, satisfied that Wisdom was out of her way, ordered that the colors be raised and that the captains of the other vessels prepare to move out. Twenty-six heavily cannoned and highly magicked ships moved in perfect, silent unison. They would come forth upon the tide.

It was probably twenty-two more ships than she needed, but the High General wanted the Beltaine Lands settled as quickly as possible. She had brought the men necessary for colonization. And the women?

The Beltaines would provide the women.

As for the acolyte, Hope, the High General planned to take her as a war-prize. It had been nearly eight turns since she had taken an apprentice. The last fifteen had been…disappointing. Yet, in their deaths, they proved useful. Fifteen souls powered the Seeing Orb that now lay in the High General’s pocket.

Talent like Hope’s remained rare. Fortunately, even creatures as primitive as the Beltaines could be taught modern magicks.

The Beltaines left behind their livestock, their well-tended fields. Yes, it would be a prime acquisition for the High General’s brother, the king. For years, His Most Glorious Highness, King Malsainge, had ignored the Beltaines. As his ruthless sister enlarged his kingdom, he never felt the need to engage the peaceful heathens. The Beltaines provided a buffer against a greater threat, the bush fairies.

For centuries, the Beltaines and the bush fairies fought in petty skirmishes over resources. The bush fairies also had the terrible tendency to view the Beltaines as a convenient food source whenever their stores fell low.

Now, with news that the bush fairies had started trade with the Beltaines, the peaceful heathens could no longer be ignored. Then, more alarming news: the king of the bush fairies had taken the Beltaine chieftain’s daughter for his bride. What was once a buffer against a race of cannibalistic wild men became a potential staging ground for direct war against the lands of Malsainge. King Malsainge was no military tactician, and so when his sister presented him with this information, he did what he did best. He handed the message scrolls back to her and told her to take care of it.

And so she had. Wisdom, the major weapon of the Beltaine people, had died. All that remained was Hope.

The High General consulted her Seeing Orb. What it revealed delighted her. With word of Wisdom’s final decision, another flurry of activity took the town. The Beltaines who put the power of their belief behind Prudence began to pack their things. The miller’s wife and daughter stayed put, not for their faith in Hope, but out of a complete resignation to death.

Hope, shaken by Wisdom’s decision, was led to the seashore by a group of women from the hut. They flung flower petals at her, clanged a small gong, and ran—presumably to pack their meager belongings and head into the woods.

The ocean lapped at the shore lazily. Nothing stirred. The blazing sun held its position high over the village. Hope pulled the silver circlet off of her, catching the veil on the point of the circlet. Hope allowed the long veil to fall to her side. Her honey-colored locks fell to her shoulders as the church bell stopped its mechanical tolling. Her hands shook as Wisdom’s had, but she managed to replace the circlet without cutting herself. Sweat dampened her face and neck as she watched an armada approach with no wind to propel it.

The High General watched Hope. Surely, she would try to call the Beltaines’ Storm Spirits to smash the armada. The High General wanted to gauge Hope’s ability.

Hope raised her arms over her head and crossed them, feeling the earth, the wind, the ocean, and the sun. She felt the ground connect with the sky inside her body. Hope opened her wide dark eyes, felt them reflect the sea, and she began to push. Gentle push…gentle push..and then with all of her strength, Hope pushed.

A breeze, enough to cool the High General’s own sweating brow, passed over the armada. The High General gave a dry chuckle. That the girl could summon any wind at all was near miraculous.

“No…” Hope breathed. She turned to the fleeing Beltaines. “PLEASE! You must give me a chance! I am nothing without you!”

An old man, enfeebled and left behind on the beach, laughed at her. “There’s no stopping Fate.”

Hope frowned at the old man and raised her golden arms above her head once more, spreading them to the sky. Her eyes searched the blank blue for any sign of clouds. In a clear, strong voice, she called for the clouds in her guttural Beltaine tongue. She called for the storm spirits and cursed the High General with all of her might. A strong breeze began to flow around her robes, flinging them this way and that. Her forgotten veil danced in the building, directionless wind.

The armada continued its approach, sailors quite grateful for the cooling winds that the little acolyte brought.

Hope PUSHED outward. A puff of concentrated air, as gentle as a sneeze, hit the High General in the face. She laughed out loud.

The sky above filled with clouds, but this only sapped the sun of its draining heat. The waves began to rise and flash, but it was only the early tide of the haying season. A light drizzle fell, washing the sweat from Hope’s brow and rendering her dress translucent.

The lost old man giggled in the rain. “The tide will run red tonight, girl…No stopping Fate.”

Hope tore at her robes and screamed to the wind and the fleeing Beltaines. “PLEASE HELP ME! I am nothing without your belief!”

The High General was quite impressed with the girl. What talent! To call this bit of weather with none of the Beltaines’ treasured belief, with nothing but her own ability, was unheard of! The rain also blessed the High General with a glorious view of the curve of Hope’s young breasts under her robes. Her thighs, just starting to fill out, shivered under damp robes. Her eyes looked black in the shaded light. The sight reminded the High General of a shivering doe; muscular, delicate, and almost eager for the arrow. A fine war prize indeed.

The sprinkling of rain did nothing to slow the advancing armada. It did seem to invigorate the old man, who was now on his feet and dancing a merry jig.

“Dance!” he cried, his eyes rolling in their sockets. “Are you daft, girl? Dance! This be our last moments. Would you not be so good as to dance with an old man and maybe kiss him on the cheek?”

“You annoy me old man…” Hope prepared herself to call the storm spirits again. Her arms shot up above her head as she reached out to unfaithful spirits and her unbelieving people.

“Why shouldn’t I? Eh?” he demanded. “Wisdom died choosing Hope over Prudence. What chance has Hope got against Fate? Nothing.” The old man stopped dancing. “The tides run red. No stopping Fate.”

Hope dropped to her knees, weeping. “I can’t…there’s no belief. The spirits will not be moved.”

“Can’t stop Fate, may as well dance. Dance to death! Dance!”

Hope watched the old man move through the rain like a broken scarecrow. Beyond him, she could see the dark shapes of the approaching ships. Soon…

Soon, it would be too late.

“The tide runs red with your life tonight, girl! Dance! There’s no stopping Fate!”

Hope understood the old man, then. She knew what had to be done. Again, she raised her arms to the sky. This time, the silver circlet flashed between her hands.

“Storm spirits, bless these hands,” she said. “Bless MY belief.”

With eyes like steel, she jammed the ornate point of the circlet into her throat. Blood ran down her chest, soaking her robes. She threw the circlet to the old man, whose eyes now glinted steel as well. Hope fell to her knees, watching her blood meet the tide.

The old man ran to the mill for shelter, clutching the circlet to his chest.

Hope laid on the beach, watching the water inch closer to her. She prayed soundlessly as death took her, then the water.

The High General was greatly disappointed to see her prize slip into the waves, but her disappointment was short-lived. The Storm Spirits rose in a great hurricane which destroyed the entire Malsainge armada.

When Prudence and the other Beltaines returned from the woods, a day and a night had passed since the storm. The Beltaines were greeted by the vengeance of the Storm Spirits. The livestock littered the beach, as if the startled animals had run into the waves. The crops lay torn and withered in the fields, and only the Church and the mill remained in Beltaine Town.

The mill contained the bodies of the miller’s wife and daughter. Just outside of the mill laid the corpse of the miller beside the corpse of an old man that nobody remembered or liked.

Prudence herself found Hope’s body in the entry hall of the Church, clutching the body of Fate Malsainge, the High General of the Malsainge lands. Wisdom’s body rested peacefully upon the altar, as if she’d been brought there for her final rites. None of the corpses were flyblown and corrupt, unlike the livestock by the sea or the bodies at the mill. Prudence and the other holy women held a lavish funeral for all three women, in the hopes that the Storm Spirits would be sated. The land never fruited again, and the sea gave forth only creatures that stung and poisoned. The Beltaines retreated permanently to the forest.

The circlet of the priestesses was never found, and many believe that the Great Goddess took it back to the realm of the Storm Spirits and the Great Gods. The very old ones say that She wears the blood and belief of mortal Hope, and is honored by it.

-- S. E. De Haven