“I am the nut that clings to the leafless bough,” came a whisper like the rubbing of bare branches in the winter wind. “I am the waning moon whose sickle harvests the stars. I am the setting sun and the cool wind that heralds the darkness. I am ripe with years and with wisdom; I see all the secrets beyond the Veil. I am Hag and Harvest Queen, Witch and Wisewoman, and you will one day belong to Me. . . .”
