Storyteller blows hard on the embers,
throws conifer branches on the blaze.
She evokes crazed spectres who leap
wrapped in shadow from tree to tree.
Our hero finds himself in dire peril.
Weighted with amulets he cannot just fly
away like a spark from the crackling cedar;
nor, bow in hand, can he emulate the snake.
He must woo the hag who recites his fate,
she of the dread-inspiring countenance,
she who once tossed him on the pyre
to rouse his ardent spirit, or so she said.
They grapple till the flames die down.
Circling the embers, neither knows who
is before or behind, only that the path
they tread will someday appear sacred