The last of the harvest is gathered, enough to sustain through the winter.
Henbane braggot is brewed, honey bannock is baked.
Sweet scents await the arrival of the Ancestral Dead.
A fire is kindled.
The veil is thin.
This entry was posted on October 31, 2015 at 8:09 pm and is filed under Folklore. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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