Travel with us, back in time, to a workshop we ran in September 2016, in the ancient and sacred landscape of Derbyshire…
The birds told me of your coming.
Hawk and Raven follow you;
sight and memory,
soaring of wings and thought.
I see you… tall and grey, small and red.
I see the purpose in your step and know where it leads.
I know what you seek…
I have been waiting since they laid me under stone…you come for my eyes.
There is a price…
…Bitter cold, the wind blasts the moor, hair whips colour into pale cheeks, rain hides the tears that still come.
It had been a long journey and little comfort awaited… just a fire in the small ravine by the waterfall, hides stretched between the rowans for shelter, meat she cannot stomach.
A place that matches the desolation in her heart…
…Gone, all gone.
The ravagers of the Raven had come.
Death a small price to pay to protect the sacred wisdom.
They had chosen.
Voices raised in song, taken by fire and sacred smoke; knowledge sacrificed, love immolated, wisdom placed upon shoulders too young.
She pulls the furs around her.
She is not alone in the night.
Others came first. Not here.
Not to her.
She could see their fires on the ridge.
Even now they work, making a place for her.
She who remains.
Even here she is not alone…
She carries their gifts… the dead ones, their souls in hers, more than memory.
All they could give, all that they were, she holds within.