I was regaling a friend of mine with Old Craft tales of the god of the witches. Being Wiccan, she hadn't heard most of them before.

“Wait a minute,” she says. “So: he sees that we're cold and hungry, and he steals the fire of heaven to warm and to feed us?”

“Right.”

“And he kills his own brother because they're both in love with the same woman?”

“That's what they say.”

“So you're telling me that the god of the witches is a thief and a murderer?”

 

“That would be him,” says I.

There's a pause.

“Lemme at him,” says she.