from one to the other, in secret nights and ancient tongue, from one to another,
by right of succession and ancient oath, until to her it was bequeathed with all that belongs to the passage; a bowl of burning coals that glow and shed warmth round about, upon which she drops juniper twigs and wood from the dead bough of an apple tree. From the coals she lights a taper, then the candles, one by one-all in silence and certainty of what is to follow.
Her shapeless dress is unbuttoned and dropped to the floor; her hair, bound about her head in a tight braid, is unraveled and spreads around her in a wild, burnished copper haze.
The medallion she takes lovingly in her hands to greet with a soft kiss before raising it to the Moon’s glow for approval; she then drops its cord over her head onto her breast, drawing comfort from its familiar coldness on her skin.
She kneels, raises her arms above her head, breathes deeply, and waits.
