Scythe, one of our runes. The new ones, that has never been drawn by my ancestors or any other maras. I walk home, basically hugging my hoodie from inside, pulling the hood down so my eyes can't be seen. My soul walks only a few feet infront of me, leading the damn dead body. Dušan did the great job here, indeed. I could never learn better skill than this split of consciousness. One day, my dears, one day I will teach you this remote control.
Everything is happening so quickly since I fell from the rock near to the Altar and broke one of my ribs. My body takes even the smallest signal as a trigger and tries to heal. My scars, bruises and other pains disappear as well as my weight, broken nails are perfect after only one short time out of the body, but to heal this essential bone I have to offer more than just a job for one night shift.
Cult keeps sending me messages, much more intensive and intimate than ever before. Coven cares. Crows sit on the street lamps and sing their creepy galdr. Everybody knows. Everyone feels even through that bloody distance. Bloody bond. All of them pray for me to find the way to my pack. Chant the safety spells for the guy whom I'll eventually cross under the dark side of the moon in a bad mood.
I told you some time ago. I'd say it was late Summarblót, Walpurgisnacht maybe. I found the werewolf protector, I found the way, I found the lore which claims to calm all the inhuman tastes. Gods bless. But to manage drunken temptations for freedom and physical temptations of lust can be even worse hence you know that all the story will be about several scratches and maybe black eyes if things go seriously wrong. Still you can't be sure.
The old cemetery with a church for sale is enough for me to let myself to leave myself.
Better leave me alone.