See now those marks on the cheekbones of Artos the Bear, and of Morgana First Wife before him.
Those are the fèin-signs of our people, the Dobunni, them they call Tribe of Witches.
Well now, maybe we aren't, and maybe we are.
In Artos' day, at coming-of-age, or fostering-in, they'd score you. With a new knife they'd score you, twice over each cheekbone, and rub in the blue woad. And that was your knife for life, then, and the signs your people wore.
In our day, of course, we score no more, but do we not still paint the fèin-signs on for big Doings, still with woad; and are they not always there, now, whether you see 'em or no?
Fèin they call “coven” these days, but still it means your own. Your own, and these the signs.
Why two now, you ask, why over the cheekbones, and where's the story?
Oh, it's a brave, braw tale and sure, I'll tell you. Oh, I'll tell you.
But first, let's be sending that cider around again, shall we?