See, in your mind’s eye those Three: the black-veiled Fates, sitting in the dirt at the crossroads, back to back to back. Each stares ahead, each with a cloth spread before them. You approach, and she casts the stones, and points silently towards the the fire of the Red, or of the Green, where the drums beat, and the godman (antlered or garlanded) welcomes you to your tribe.
The red and green people gather, in their own places. The drums rise and fall, the dancers slow, and each godman tells their own tribes’ story. Oaths are asked for and made. Will the Red honor the grove of the Green? Will the Green be host to the wandering Red? Yes, yes and yes.
The Red Tribe comes, approaches the Green. The godman of the Red comes forth. Gifts are poured; streams of wine, water and milk reach for the Earth. The godmen meet, embrace, and exchange torcs. When the stang is set between the great white oaks, the peace between the tribes is sealed. Two tribes pour into one, dancing, drumming, and singing. Now, this day is also that first day, when twin sons of the all-giving Earth first made peace.
Witch Mama 