The morning after our first Grand Sabbat, a friend approached, a little hesitantly.

“That was you in the horns and the paint up on the altar last night?”

I pause, then smile and nod.

She shakes her head, incredulous.


“That's what I thought, but I still can't believe it. I swear, that was just not you. When he spoke, it wasn't your voice. He didn't move like you. He had 6 inches and 25 pounds on you." She pauses. "He was even, you know”—she laughs—“bigger than you.”

I laugh too. Skyclad was a lot more common in those days than it is now.

“That's him, then,” I say, meaning it.

Priestcraft is priestcraft, but that only opens the way. The Old Worship has its own mysteries.

And some things just can't be faked.