Within the corner of a darkened room, a woman with her hair, bound about her head in a tight braid, and an unbuttoned dress, sits on a chair and hums a repetitive tune. Her eyes are closed and she rocks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth - seeming to sway in some invisible wind like the rushes on a lakeshore. Her hands are moving between threads as she weaves and plaits them, every now and then stopping to tie a knot; the silence more permeable for the lack of song. .
She sits, thus, for hours until the room lightens with the glow of the rising Moon, the shafts of which pierce the window to land at her feet. The monotonous humming stops, the rocking stops, the dancing fingers stop - her eyes are open.
She stands and walks to the center of the little room where her table is set with the instruments of her birthright: a cup, picking up the glow of the moonlight; a knife with a double-edged blade that flares and tapers finely to its point of power; a pentacle that glows with burnished light; the wand of willow wood, finely carved into an intricate set of spirals and swirls; candles of purest white; a bowl of burning coals that glow and shed warmth, and a heavy silver medallion, older than she even knows complimented by a sword that has been passed down, along with her knowledge of witchcraft.
She takes the medallion lovingly in her hands to greet with a soft kiss before raising it to the Moon's glow for approval. She kneels, raises her arms above her head, breathes deeply, and waits. Very soon the Moon is fully raised and the shafts of silver cover her body and radiate around her. She cries out, in the ancient tongue of the Lands of Lirian, that she is ready to greet her Goddess, whose name she summons by the name she knows, and it rings around her thrice, like the secret chiming of bells. The Goddess is seen as Mother Earth and Mother Nature, and is represented by the moon.
