Foxfire, Wolfskin: and other stories of shapeshifting women

Women too have been declared to be inferior to men; we know what it is to be afraid, and to be hunted. It’s only natural, then, that we should closely identify with animals, and embrace them as allies and as teachers on our journey. But with that kinship comes responsibility, and so perhaps it is time to reclaim our ancient role as Mistress of the

She scooped up the child, tucked him under her arm, and half ran and half stumbled toward the roaring sea. “Oh, mother! No! Don’t leave me!” Ooruk cried. And at once you could tell she wanted to stay with her child, she wanted to, but something called her, something older than she, older than he, older than time.

This is what happens to Macsen, and Elen is the Otherworldly guide who reels him in along the thread of her dreampaths, bringing him to her so that he can serve the land as its king.

She could crouch on the wind-whipped grass and dig the stones from the ground and fling them down at the suspicious cottiers and their fear of any woman who was not tethered to man or hearth. There, upon the mountain, her difference – no matter its great weight, its sharp and restless ache upon her heart – was, in the face of such unyielding beauty