It took a million years after the creation of Albion and the incarceration of Brutá and Hasafá for the great almighty goddess Asifá to realize she had made a mistake. The two lovers at the center of the planet had been having squabbles and disagreements for millennia, as all who are deeply in love do. But when a million years had passed and the couple at the center of the world realized they were never going to be free . . . That there was an entire world surrounding them, with no way out, they began a spat. A spat that turned into an argument that turned into a fight that turned into a long, drawn-out battle, that turned into a war that lasted for many years. At the time a violence between the two attained a level that had not been seen before throughout the entire short-lived existence of the planet Albion. Fortunately, only a million years into its very long life, the planet had yet to spawn any life. The surface of the world was in fact still very much in upheaval with earthquakes criss-crossing the globe; volcanoes arising and then sinking back down all over like a distant planet to observers that constantly hides behind its star, then reveals itself, then hides once more.

It was on no day in particular that the two gods became especially violent. Brutá threw Hasafá against one side of the core with such a level of violence that a piece of the mantle of Albion was broken asunder and flew off into space. Not wanting to be outdone in any way, Hasafá returned the favor, and in so doing, broke off another piece of the planet and also sent it hurtling into space.

Asifá observed these two momentous events on the edge of her kenning and immediately returned to the system where Albion orbited its mighty star. The great goddess worked fast, taking elements and materials from surrounding planets and then applying some of her own secret ingredients to form an impenetrable, protective barrier that she encased Albion with. It was invisible to the naked eye and still allowed the many geological events that were occurring and would continue to occur in Albion’s long future carry out as time would allow, but it prevented Brutá and Hasafá from ever causing any external damage to the planet again.

And with those two final, ever so violent acts against each other, Brutá and Hasafá entered into a period of love and respect for each other, which they promptly consummated and continued to do so for centuries to come. But Albion was already in a state of extreme upheaval, so the at times intense earthquakes and shakings of the planet due to what was occurring at its core went unnoticed.

[Break]

Meanwhile the two different sized chunks of former Albion that had been hurtled into space began to settle into a stable orbit with Albion. They were on different orbital planes and perhaps, one day, in the oh so very distant future, would collide and rain down a hailstorm of meteorites that would wipe out any life on the planet within a number of years . . . But that story lies in the far off future. For now the two rocks were comfortably orbiting Albion and having little effect upon the planet. But the many revolutions helped to round and soften the edges of these rocks so they eventually became small round planetoids. At times they would be bombarded by meteors and asteroids. Both lacked any sort of atmosphere and so became cratered and pock-marked by these attacks from space. There was one time when a larger meteor made contacted with the smaller of the two rocks and threatened to dislodge it from its orbit and send it hurtling towards the mighty sun. The great goddess Asifá had become quite fond of these two orbiting rocks that she now called the twin moons of Albion. She had in fact named them: the larger was Gammá, the smaller Etá. So when she observed the event that would send Etá into the sun and oblivion, she reached in and took away the errant meteor and hurtled it into another far off galaxy.

Gammá and Etá continued to orbit Albion as a twin-moon system.

[Break]

A couple of billions years passed and eventually Albion became a planet teeming with diverse life. Plants and trees of every kind on seven great islands spanning the planet. In between were mighty oceans, and some not so mighty. There were mountains, there were hills. There were rivers, there were streams. There were many different peoples from all over. Most people almost never met other people from other islands, however there was plenty of sea travel. Not all those who traveled by sea always made it to their destination, for there were strange creatures and other unknown things beneath the waters. A good number of people rarely got to know or even meet the people on the other side of their large island. But there were of course, a number that did travel greatly, and did interact much with many different people.

The Circé were part of this nomadic group.

As for the twin moons of Gammá and Etá, they exacted a most perplexing toll upon Albion and its people, although not all that perplexing to the Circé. On certain days and times of the year there were high tides and low tides with the waters around each of the seven islands. And at two specific points of the year – always occurring on the same day – there would be an extreme high tide that would have some extreme flooding and cause those who lived near the water’s edge to temporarily move to higher ground; but in a relatively short time it would be over and things would return to normal. On the “opposite” time of that special event of the year, there would be an extreme low tide, where the waters appeared to be withdrawing into their respective oceans, just as one takes in a deep breath. The shipping of goods and ferrying of people would be halted for a number of days, and then the waters would return and life would continue on as it ever had before, until the next extreme high tide or low tide event.

To an outsider it might be considered a harsh world that exacted a harsh toll on its inhabitants. But to those Albions who had lived on their respective islands for generations upon generations, it was simply the way the planet lived, and the way balance was achieved.

It was the way Albion was, and not a single one of its many different peoples would have it any other way.

[Longer break]

[Slightly different voice]

I push my chair back from the table I have been recording my oral stories for over the last twelve hours. The man named Steve has been very kind, bringing me water and sustenance when I have needed it. I have not at any point asked, he has simply done it, and I have thanked him graciously and taking the drink and vittles. They have sustained me through this long first day of my storytelling.

I stand and walk around the room, then go downstairs and outside to breath fresh air. The night sky is above, dotted with a firmament of stars. The moon has risen, a bright white orb, and is almost full. I feel a pang in my heart that I see only one orb, not the bluish twin orbs I have become so used to on Albion. It seems a trivial thing to miss, but it makes this world feel so alien to me.

It is very clearly not my world.

But I can feel a change happening within me now. An awakening. There is a stirring of powers, of abilities I have not sensed nor felt in a very long time. It feels . . . Wonderful.

A smile alights itself on my face. Then I realize I am not alone. I turn and see Steve in the doorway behind me. He has a smirk upon his face.

STEVE: It’s working, isn’t it?

I cannot help smiling wider now. I choose not to say any words, not wishing to break the moment. I give a slight nod, the smile still wide and beaming much as it did when I first looked upon Mæve so many, many years ago.

Steve can see my growing euphoria and cannot help but be a part of it. He bursts out laughing, his joy growing with mine.

And then I cannot contain it no longer. I too begin laughing.

[Laughing]

We laugh together under the strange night sky, on the strange rock of the Gibraltar.

Whether Jake or Monica will ever return, we know not. We are possibly the last two people of the Ostium Network.

But we do not let those potential facts affect our happiness at this moment in time.

We continue to laugh, our vocal sounds reaching up into the night and passing off into the reaches of space.

Perhaps somewhere, at some time, those sounds may reach a certain planet with two small moons orbiting a bright star. A planet called Albion.

Mæve is on the ground. Not moving. A cold spark of fear shoots through my body.

What happened?

[Break]

She was scared, just like I was.

Just like I am.

She was watching next to me. I touched the tree, drawing all the essence I could from it. I knew from past experience, discussions with Clýstra, that when such a spell is compelled, all energy from the tree is drawn from root tip to leaf edge. The tree quickly loses its color, turns a dark gray. It becomes very dry. Branches fall to the ground. 

Clýstra had also taught me that when all the essence is taken from the tree, it only applies to the limits of the tree. The very ends of its root system, but not anything surrounding the roots; the very edges of the leaves and branches, but nothing nearby, unless something organic is in full contact with the tree. If there are birds or any other animals roosting on the branches, with skin, fur, feather or scale contact with the tree, that organic material will also have its essence taken . . .

I slowly and ever so carefully kneel down next to Mæve. She lies there, one hand under her perfectly sculpted chin. The side of her face still shining in the nearby firelight. She looked like she might be resting, sleeping perhaps. We have had a taxing, busy day, full for activity and eating and enjoyment with each other. I myself am close to exhaustion, especially after the spell.

[Beat]

But I know she is not sleeping.

I have not checked.

I have not made certain.

Like a fool.

[Angry] Like a novice Circé.

I have not followed the rules and the code of the Circé. I have not made the correct decisions, nor considered the full consequences of what I have done before conducting them.

I have not planned accordingly.

I see it in my mind now. One hand. Maybe both. Mæve’s hands. Touching the tree. As I turned from her I felt one of her arms fall from me. As she turned, I felt the other, not paying any attention. As she saw the terrifying blue orb, she reacted on instinct: moving closer to the tree; hiding behind me and using the trunk for support and protection.

For I did not.

As I drew the essence from the tree, I also drew the essence from her. I did not see. I did not hear a single sound from her. It happened so quickly. I was focused on completing the spell, I had not checked . . . I had not even considered . . . what might be happening. That I might be sucking the very life and existence from the girl I had grown so very close to.

That I killed . . . Murdered the girl who captured my heart.

I began weeping.

[Break]

Time passes. I know not how much. The fires are still going strong; the bonfires sending crackling flames into the night sky on this auspicious night when things that are unwanted are kept at bay. So Mæve had told me earlier.

I sit up and see her form unmoving on the ground, still very much dead. I wonder if it might all have been a dream? Seeing Mæve’s form brings everything back in an instant.

CLYSTRA: Is she passed?

THÝRA [Quietly]: Umm . . . Yes. She . . . Is . . . Dead.

Clýstra looks up, searching around, making sure we are alone.

CLYSTRA: Very well, we do not have much time. Help me with the body.

THÝRA [Shock]: What?

CLYSTRA [Serious]: Thýra. This child is dead. I do not know the circumstances and at this point in time I do not want to know. But once she is discovered – and if she is left here, mark my words, she will be discovered – it will not take long for the town to point the finger at the last person she was seen with. You. We must get rid of her; we must do it now; and then we must leave.

The horrible feelings bursting from my chest become much worse, a hundredfold worse! But Clýstra is right. I have trusted her all my life, I will not shirk that trust at this moment in time.

THÝRA [Quietly]: What do you need me to do.

CLYSTRA: I need you to do exactly as I tell you. Do not hesitate no matter what I tell you. Understood?

I nod.

CLYSTRA: Good. Take her legs. I will take her shoulders.

We lift Mæve and Clýstra leads us in a specific direction. In a few moments I know where we were headed. I feel a gasp wanting to rip itself from me, but hold it inside.

When we reach the bonfire, Clýstra looks directly at me.

CLYSTRA: On the count of three.

She does not wait to see if I understand.

She begins swaying the body back and forth. I move in time with her, and on three we let go of the body.

The dessicated corpse that was once a beautiful young girl named Mæve no longer weighs much. It flies through the air easily.

I want to watch the fires consume her, turn her to dust, but Clýstra will not let me.

We do not have time.

She takes my arm and we quickly begin walking away from the stoked fires.

Clýstra does not look back.

I do not either.

[Break]

We walk for hours into the night. I know not what time it is until I began to see a lightening in the east. The Sun begins to rise shortly after. It is then that I begin my story, telling Clýstra everything from first seeing Mæve in the market square to my losing conscious and my teacher finding me. She gives me many a stern look during my telling, but never says a word.

We continue as such for the whole day. We take two brief respites to eat and then move along. Some time after nightfall, Clýstra announces we will rest for the night. We eat, then go to sleep. In the morning we are up before daybreak and begin the last leg of the journey home.

We reach our humble abode on the very edge of the world a short while after the sun is at its zenith.

We put away what few belongings we brought with us. Clýstra makes a particularly strong batch of tea. I find some stale cakes we can dunk in our tea to soften. We sit down, facing each other. We soften the cakes and eat them, then drink most of our tea.

I can no longer take the silence between us.

THÝRA [Angry]: I need you to say something. To shout at me. To punish me. To have some reaction!

Clýstra looks at me, waiting for me to catch my breath after this venting. Then, after two days of mostly silence other than a couple of sentences, she speaks.

CLYSTRA: At this point, with how much time has passed, I see little point in punishing you. Thýra. I saw how you looked at Mæve. I saw how close you two quickly became. That is something that does not happen often. It is  unique and very special. [Slowly, carefully] What you did . . . What happened, it is something I have taught to you and told you about a number of times. I know it was not your intention to ever harm Mæve. But you made a mistake.

THÝRA [Quiet]: More than a mistake . . .

CLYSTRA: Yes. It was terrible, but a mistake nevertheless. I repeat: you never meant to hurt Mæve. You cared deeply for her. I know that, and you know that . . . And Mæve knew that. What happened to her . . . Happened very quickly and she would not have been fully aware before her life and essence were gone and she was no more.

THÝRA [Quiet]: It was so horrible . . .

CLYSTRA: Listen to me, Thýra. This is going to hurt to hear but it must needs be said. You are already suffering for this, for what you have done. You will suffer inside for a long time. The hurt will continue to get worse, then it will remain the same, and then, after some time, maybe a long time, you will begin to heal, to get better, and become whole and balanced again. If what it took for you to fully understand and accept this lesson is the unintentional death of someone you cared much for, then at least it is a lesson well learned.

That is all she says on the matter. It would be fruitless to try to talk more. On that day I grew to hate Clýstra a little, but as time went by . . . As the years past, all the things she said would come to pass did.

And . . . In time . . . I forgave her for what she said that day.

And . . . I never forgot the painful learning of that lesson.

I have never forgotten Mæve. My first love.

I feel unable to accept the information my eyes are transmitting to my brain. What I do comprehend is that Mæve knows exactly what she is doing and has in all likelihood paid witness to this event or at least a very similar one at some point in the past. We are well hidden behind some trees, as she no doubt planned, which would prove more than fortuitous in the near future.

[Break]

The bright, dense blue light floods the landscape as if an enormous bucket of blue paint has been splashed across this swathe of land. A rent has been ripped through reality; a sizable opening that my mind is constantly trying to comprehend but constantly failing. I can see the surroundings of our world clearly, albeit bathed in blue. The boundaries of our trees and bushes and ground. To the left and to the right, and down below. The rent stretches high into the night sky, becoming lost in the dark, the stars, and the swirling smoke of the many bonfires. Where it ends – and whether it ends – I know not. It is a great hole, a window providing visibility and insight into their world, but also theirs into ours.

It is a scene from another world, most likely another time. The blue light makes this clear, but also seeing the stark differences to our own.

There are five of them. I am uncertain if they are women or men or non-gendered, or multi-gendered. They are a people I have never seen before and do not want to assume anything about them. If there is one thing I have learned in my short time in this life, it is that we can never make a hasty decision about that which we either do not understand or at least are not familiar with in some way. For that way lies error and miss-judgment and ultimately our own failing. The teachings of the Circé make this adamantly clear.

The five beings of another world sit at a round table that is made of some silvery substance. It is bright and shimmering with almost liquid-like properties, but two of them have their arms placed upon it, using it as support, so I know that it is a sold object. Three of them have long straight black hair; the other two long curly blond hair. Their faces are a light tan. Their eyes . . . Their eyes are red. I can not tell from my vantage point if their entire eyeballs are red, or if it is the color of part of the eye. Nevertheless, I find it very unsettling, not for any particular negative reason, but because I have never seen beings such as these before. They are unfamiliar which puts me automatically on edge, as much as I do not want it to.

One must not jump to thoughtless conclusions with the unknown, but by the same token once must not go in completely blind and not at least somewhat prepared. On your heels and ready, as Clýstra likes to say. That does a good Circé make.

They appear not to speak, or perhaps they have no need to. It seems they are conversing with each other in some other way; perhaps through some mental transmission. Occasionally two or more of them will look up at each other, then back down again, as if a question has been asked, an answer given; or discussion conducted, a resolution reached.

As I said, the liquid-like table is a bright silvery color, but in the very center where all five appear very interested, is a smaller circle. It is a shade of blue equal to that emanating from the edges of the rift. The very color we are being bathed in.  I cannot see exactly what is in this blue circle, but there is certainly something. Dark and black shapes, as if whatever is transmitting this murky images is in motion. It seems almost fruitless on my part to continue trying to understand what they are looking at. I want to stand and come closer to the rift, perhaps even pass through it somehow. I want to know what this powerful thing is, but must force myself to remain hidden behind the trees.

Mæve senses this somehow. She looks to me. [Surprise] She is scared. Instinctively, we draw into a close embrace, sharing our warmth and our fear in solidarity.

One of the beings Mæve called elves stiffens, then the other four do likewise. The first being reaches out an arm, pointing at what is revealed in the blue circle. I hold back a gasp as I finally see what is in the circle: a smaller image of the very rift we are staring in to.

Is this the same rift? A question that comes unbidden but I push it away, knowing my mind is trying to lessen my fear. I need to remain focused and in what control I can maintain. It is the same rift. And such a thing can only have been created by immense power. Where such a power comes from and through what means, I cannot begin to fathom.

If our eyes are not deceiving us, then this means the beings are looking at us somehow.

So ff I were to turn around, what would I see . . . ?

My body does this before I realize what is happening, before I can stop myself. Mæve remains transfixed, unaware.

[Break]

The blue circle is much larger on this side. It is hovering there like an incorporeal being. It is blue, but also transparent, and I can see through to the other side. I can see the five beings with red eyes looking down upon us. Scrutinizing. Questioning.

Mæve finally turns to look where I am.

[MÆVE YELPING]

I know not if these alien beings are friend or foe, but cannot risk choosing one or tother. As a Circé, I must do what I can to end this and somehow seal the rift.

I half turn back to the tree, putting my hands to its solid brown trunk. From it I draw all the essence and life it will give me, holding nothing back. Taking all. I have performed spells such as this before, under Clýstra’s direction, on smaller trees. It results in a  dead tree and falling branches. In this situation, I have not the time to be aware of my safety.

Nor Mæve’s for that matter.

I rip my hands away from the now dead and dessicated tree and fling them toward the great blue circle.

The blinding white light comes first, followed by a sharp, ear-splitting crackling. The jagged beams launch from my hands, colliding with the blue circle, shattering it like a piece of brittle pottery.

There is silence for a moment.

Then the death of the tree, falling asunder, landing exactly where a rift through reality is no longer.

Suffice to say: the rip, the magic, and the chaotic moment are all over. The world; my world has returned to normal.

Everything is once again in balance.

[Beat]

I turn and see this is not true.

THÝRA [shock, spoken quickly]: How is that possible? Why did you not tell me right away? Who is your teacher? Is it possibly Clýstra? Has she worked with you before? Does she travel to Sinat to teach you without my knowing somehow?

MÆVE: Are you finished? Any more outrageous questions?

THÝRA: I . . . No. My apologies. Please . . . Explain.

MÆVE: I have no teacher. I’ve taught myself from books. Two books actually that I found on a dusty bottom shelf of the Sinat library.

THÝRA: That . . . That sounds impossible. Are you really telling the truth?

MÆVE [Angry]: Are you going to let me tell it like it is, or doubt every word I say?

THÝRA: I . . . Again, I apologize. I was unaware of any books containing lore and spells of the Circé, and had been told they do not exist. Please continue.

MÆVE [Sarcastic]: Thank you. This wasn’t something my heart had been set on since I was young. I had heard about the Circé, of course; who hasn’t? This special coven of sorceresses that has been around for millennia. The secrets and spells passed down for generations. Never cis males. How many Circé are there? Nobody truly knows.

THÝRA: Does every girl or person who identifies as not a cis man wish to be one of the Circé?

MÆVE: What do you think?

THÝRA: I . . . I don’t know. It is why I asked.

MÆVE: Oh, I . . . Assumed you already knew. Sorry. Er . . . Yes. The answer is yes. Every girl I’ve ever known, be they friend or family, has wanted to be a Circé. And I have known a trans person or two expressing interest in the calling. We would all pretend when we were wee ones. Actually, I still do it now, from time to time. A little make believe with my sisters, as we cast spells to help and to heal.

THÝRA: I believe you said just moments ago the Circé was not your heart’s desire.

MÆVE: I was getting to that! Every girl wants to be Circé, which is exactly why we all know we will never become one of those special chosen. It’s an idle fantasy we all have, like being a queen, because we know it will never come true.

THÝRA: Until those books you discovered at the library.

MÆVE: Yes. Until I found the books. I love books, I love turning the pages, and discovering the wonderful and incredible stories within.

THÝRA: I have spent too many years reading and learning the spell books, and too little time enjoying a book for its story.

MÆVE [laughing]: It kind of shows actually . . . You talk a bit like a dusty old spell book.

THÝRA [hurt]: I do?

MÆVE: Oh, sorry no. I didn’t mean anything by it. I meant it more as . . . [unsure] A compliment? I find it kind of cute, actually.

THÝRA [somewhat shocked]: Really?

MÆVE: Sure. Among other things . . .

I have absolutely no response to this. I do notice as she leans over me to get some bread, she inches herself a little closer.

MÆVE: I could lie to myself and say those books showed themselves to me. Revealed themselves in a magical way in a room full of books that all looked the same. But I was just looking for something I hadn’t read . . . Umpteen times before. And there they were, all hidden away. Their covers wearing furry blankets of dust. I took them outside and blew the dust from their ancient faces. Neither of them had a title or any words. Clear of any letters except for a big C. I suppose I should’ve been a little bit suspicious.

THÝRA: All the books I have read from and learned from are the same way. Simplistic. Almost cryptic perhaps. But that is their way, I believe. They have their ways, and their power is great, and they have done what they have done for many generations, as you said. I may not be the best person to vouchsafe them, but it is the only world I know. The only world I have known.

MÆVE: You have led a very sheltered life, haven’t you?

THÝRA [fragile]: I don’t know. Clýstra found me when I was a babe. My parents were gone. I . . . I don’t know what happened. But she took me in. And raised me. And is making me one of the Circé.

MÆVE: Oh you poor thing.

THÝRA: No. You might think a choice was never given to me. And perhaps it was not. But I regret none of it. I can draw power from what is around me . . .

I reach out a hand and select a significant chunk of cheese. I clutch it tight, feeling it turn to mush and forced between my fingers. At the same time I draw the life and essence from it, feeling it grow dry and crumbly. I open my hand and the cheese that was molded from cow’s milk is now gray and lifeless and falling from my hand like dirt and dust.

Mæve watches, completely wrapt in what I am doing.

THÝRA: And now that power is within me and I can do something like this . . .

The same hand points towards the river, palm down. I slowly rotate it and from the rushing water a column of liquid draws up, reaching four feet into the air. The river may be running at a steady pace beneath it, but this water I am drawing up with my magic pays no heed to what is happening to its source below.

I bring my other hand around and make a shaping motion. In turn, the water thickens and begins to form a vague body shape. I continue moving my hands ever so slightly, focusing on creating the solid image that is in my mind to the best of my abilities.

A few moments later Mæve loudly gasps.

MÆVE: [GASP]

MÆVE [shock]: It’s . . . It’s me. How is that possible?

THÝRA: It is the magic of the Circé. No more. No less.

And without further ado, the column of water that looks akin to Mæve’s form quickly collapses, rejoining its rushing origination.

MÆVE [Disappointed]: What? What happened?

THÝRA: No magic is forever. It cannot be. There must always be balance. Life and energy is taken from that piece of organic matter and is transmuted, through my ability, to become a sculpted column of water. But it is a finite resource. Not self-sustaining. Never so. Once the life, the essence has been all used up, the magic collapses in upon itself and is undone.

MÆVE: Can you do it again?

THÝRA: Of course. But it will require another chunk of cheese, and I do not want to waste such a delicacy.

Mæve looks right at me then, looking deep within me. I believe I see her intentions for a brief fraction of a second, before she is upon me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders. Her warm, full lips on mine.

I am shocked. At first. We continue kissing for some time.

[Break]

We return to the market place hand it hand. I have never felt so at ease before; a calm has descended upon me like a comforting blanket that I never wish to lose. I soon find Clýstra and introduced Mæve to her. She wears a bemused grin. I am still unsure if she knows what we have been up to, but she does not have a single negative word to say, and I am immensely happy. She leads us over to some tables and soon we are served platters of cooked meat and baked potatoes and boiled vegetables. Even though Mæve and I have enjoyed meats and cheeses and breads, we find ourselves famished once again.

I suppose our time . . . Enjoying each other has taken something from us, made us hungry.

I am also willing to admit that I am hungry for more of what we were doing.

Much more.

[Short break]

The food is delicious, and as the sun begins setting on this day before Mayday, the bonfires are lit, as are the many torches throughout the town. It seems as if we have been transported to somewhere new, a place of ethereal beauty where the many glowing, flickering flames bathe our faces in a very favorable light.

By the time we are done with our supper, Clýstra is already talking with some other people, ignoring us for the time being. Mæve seizes the moment, taking my hand, and we are off again, disappearing into the trees and the darkness of the night.

[Break]

MÆVE: Did you hear the story Goran was telling?

THÝRA: Who is Goran?

MÆVE: The elder sitting at the table across from us?

THÝRA: I regret to inform you I did not.

I had been enjoying my food too much, as well as being entranced with Mæve’s beautiful face in the flickering firelight. I very much wish to be kissing her again.

And now my heart is beating fast with such hopes . . .

MÆVE: He was telling the tale he fully believes but everyone thinks is a load of poppycock.

THÝRA [awkwardly]: Poppy . . . Cock?

MÆVE [sighing]: Yes. Lies! It’s the story that on the night before Mayday there are certain girls – and though he never outright says so, he undoubtedly means Circé – who transform into hares to steal the milk and churn of the successful farmers so that they will have a poor summer and poor harvest and all starve. And that on one such night long ago, so he says, he set his greyhound, Axe, upon the hare. The dog bit it but did not slay it. When Goran called back his dog, the animal had the hare’s leg in its mouth. Goran says he then chased after the hare to a house known to belong to that of a witch, a Circé no doubt, and inside found an old woman knitting . . . And her leg was missing!

THÝRA: That sounds . . . Absolutely preposterous. 

MÆVE [laughing]: It is! Absolute codswallop!

THÝRA: Another strange expression that I am unable to decipher.

MÆVE: Then let me help you, if I may.

THÝRA [giggling]: You certainly may . . .

But before our lips touch again, we both hear a strange singing coming from a copse of trees away from us. Suddenly we are bathed in a blue light.

MÆVE: Oh wonderful! I had hoped this would happen soon.

THÝRA: What is this?

MÆVE: Dear Thýra, something very special is about to happen . . . The elves are coming . . .