Knock. Knock. Knock.
Crowned with antler and golden leaf, the Stag stands at the door. He leads us out, into the night.
To Night's very Heart he leads us.
We call out the names of the dead.
We pour the libation.
We sing the oldest song.
She gives him the apple. He eats. We eat.
He lays down his horns before her.
He passes into the night.
We return to the hall. For us, the feast, the firelight, the merry-make.
But he has gone before us, into the dark.
Gone the crown, the shining, antler and leaf.
Willing, he lays down the horn.