Mable went to her sacred grove. The land was pure, fresh, and the soil was teeming with her on blood. She lovingly caressed her tree. Next, she placed her small dagger on the ground next to a mossy area. She then took off her black silk top and drawstring pants. Carefully folded them, placing them on a stump.

She stood there naked enjoying the tingle of the night air against her pale cold skin. She quietly sunk into the dirt to be with the tree roots. This always calmed her and gave her strength. After a while with this quiet meditation, she emerged from the ground and sat down on the mossy spot.

Picking up her dagger she murmured a few words of thanks to the goddess. She cut her hand and squeezed out blood onto the soil near the tree. As the red blood mixed with the dark rich soil it glowed momentarily then dimmed finally fading. She gave more thanks and asked for protection of the haven, of the farm, and of the domain. She asked for strength of her mind and body to continue on her mission to protect the land and the people. She asked for the wisdom and knowledge to help nurture those around her. Finally, she offered herself to the goddess to serve her in whatever capacity that was needed.

Mable sat still, quiet, and deep in meditation for hours. Going over the different issues of the domain and its security. Thinking about the Crone and its different factions she had learned about. Thinking about how she could help guide others in their quests.

She once was a lost child. Alone in the world with no real purpose. Afraid of getting close to people. She still was afraid but now that fear she realized was selfish. She was afraid of being alone again and therefore stayed away from others. Insanity, because this was being alone to keep from being alone. She was trying to let others in. Working past the fear, knowing everyone will leave at some point. But knowing others will be there.

She was no longer lost. She had a purpose, a direction. She was a protector of the land and of its people. She had found her place in the world here. She had found her spiritual side. Instead of being angry at the gods for taking everything, she was able to give thanks for everything she had. Being dead made her live. She now had a deeper appreciation for all that was alive, and she appreciated how her unlife gave her insight into things.

Maybe others didn’t understand her. Maybe her communication and social skills were terrible. But she felt others did see her value. If they didn’t, she at least did. And she had value.

She stood, walked over to the pond. Sinking into the water she bathed the dirt off of her body. She dove under and swam across. The moon sparkled on the surface. When she was done, she got out and dressed. Her hand had already begun to heal.