Alban Elfed





The village shaman stood before the bonfire in the cleared center of the pine grove. The crowd hushed in expectation; even the wild fae-folk, eyes glittering orange, listened from the forest shadows.

He started tapping a small drum and chanting about the wheel of turning seasons and of the balance of light and dark.

"Today is the ending of the equinox, the Alban Elfed. Now comes the waning of the day as the night takes her due. We mark this moment to give our thanks for the blessings of abundance." As if on cue, a new baby cried, and the assembly giggled politely.

Smiling, he continued. "But we also have another blessing: the blessing of change. As the darkness grows, let us leave her with the things we discard. Bad habits. Sadness. Sickness of spirit. All of these, she will take, and gladly." He removed a piece of broken stalk, the chaff of the day's winnowing, and tossed it into the flames.

"So I give my sadness to the night. So may we all." And for a moment, a trick of the fire made some with discernment glimpse a fae crown upon his head, though later none spoke of it.




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