Wytchwood deep one cracked#
Wytchwood deep one full#

Wytchwood deep one cracked#

I have seen it, and I am glad.” Said Old Ben, his ice-blue eyes twinkled as he grinned, his face cracked with thick wrinkles of time across “Ha-ho, young Tess, this comes as no surprise, for the stars have been shinning upon the

Spoke, “My Elders, I have been summoned to the Wytchwood, but I am afraid!” I approached and knelt before the elders of my coven. It is time!”īranwynne gave a small gasp and smiled, “Yes, Tilda, so it does appear, you are correct Gray hair, whistling and nudging my Grianmere with her elbow, “Ah-ha! Yes, Branwynne, the Bruzjah message is clear after all! Look who has come. Matilda looked up as I entered the room, brushing away strands of zher salt and pepper All of me was terrified of entering the Wytchwood and what While another part me was afraid it was too soon, that I was not strong enough in my Magyck. To control the Elements and Weave Spelles. Part of me knew it was time to prove I was ready to Bloom as a witch, with my own Magyck But I worried, ‘Can I succeed? What if I am not strong enough in my Magyck and the Wytch Hag enslaves me?’ Here were people who loved me and wanted me Three of them in Hearth’s Home Lodge, conversing over mulled wine and herbed tea, with Matilda’s cobb pipe fluffing out puffs of scullymugdoffle smoke. My stabbing fear wavered with a building worry that began niggling at me when I found the There was also our First Mystic, Matilda, who held all the knowledge about Dia Unali and Her-Story, as well as the wisdom of our coven lineages.Īnd there was Old Ben, our Master Auger, who knew more about the starry skies and their legends, than the very gods of whose fingers themselves directed the motions of the Grianmere Branwynne, who was our greatest Healer. I made my way to Umbrage village to seek help from the Elder Council. Of the skeletal, black-as-pitch imp, Tumbleskin, came to mind, sending a shiver down my spine.Īnd yet there was nothing for it but to continue forward. Recalling this made me think for a moment, ‘What exactly am I afraid of?’ Then, a vision “Only when a witch is ready to Bloom fully into her Magyck, shall she also find the strength and perseverance to overcome whatever obstacles and challenges My Grianmere, Branwynne told me once that the I was truly wretched that day, wracked with Mysterious Wytchwood and facing the Wytch Hag and her daimons, brought the bile up from the base of my gut, into my throat and beyond. The idea of traveling to the terrifyingly They were gone as quickly as they arrived. Instead of feeling the bounty of Her love and protection, I felt a bone-tingling chill ofĬold fear run down my spine as a cluster of bees came from out of nowhere to encircle me, their wings buzzing into a cohesive chant, rising in volume and urgency, “To the Wytchwood… to the Offering I performed in the same manner as all my days before, giving gratitude and homage to Dia Unali, our Mother Goddess. Its murmuring brought a moment of calm and peace. I placed the earthenware plate and cup upon the table which stood before the softly gurgling waters of a stone fountain. I felt it again as I made my morning offering of honey-cake and milk at the altar in ourĬottage garden. the possibilities of what waited within the dank, dark trees made it all too easy for the Wytchwood to grab hold and paralyze one with petrifying terror. These dangers were as real as we young witches, mages and mystics imagined them

Wytchwood deep one full#

It was a place full ofĭangerous creatures, plants, and even the very stones could lead a witch astray, so the elders said in their stories. The Wytchwood was a dark place where fears took root and grew. Would chain children to her daimon ilk and send them deep into the woods to gather herbs in the rankest of bogs, where more horrors in the guise of leshii, woebegones and nuckelavees waited to drag Never be disobeyed, delighted in collecting young wanderers to clean her House of Bones and toil in her Poison Garden, all while tormenting them with her imps and pixies. I listened to stories about children who never came back. They could brave the fierce Magyck of the Wytchwood before they were called to be tested by the Wytch Hag and prove their readiness for their Anima Familia. I had grown up listening to nightmarish tales of luckless or senseless children thinking I did not understand why it was so, only that it was. Would be to face the Wytch Hag in her House of Bones. And I knew the only way this would happen I knew that my Anima Familia could only be found within the dark depths of the Wytchwood. My heart’s Familiar, the other half of myself, my Anima Familia. I would not Bloom into my Magyck as a witch until I could meet Mind, weaving its way down the spiraling stairs to my heart the message taking hold loud and clear, “To the Wytchwood you must go.” It began with a dream whispering its gossamer threads through my