Elsbeth travels a short distance and stops at a watery depression, a hole clogged with vegetation and muck. She takes a stick and pokes it into the water, finding it deep enough for her needs. The young woman carefully pulls her dress well above her knees and kneels by the water, her bare skin contacting the moist soil. She lays her scimitar on her lap and quickly unbraids her auburn tresses, letting her long hair settle about her shoulders.

"Callum, you'll be needing a weapon. It doesn't have to be yours but its one that will be sacrificed. And you'll be needing your heads. We'll call upon your God of War for your part, as you did kill them."

She pauses. "Rethe, you probably know what I'm about. You represent this place, the healing that must happen."

Elsbeth glances at the others, whoever has followed. "All you need be doing is follow my lead. I feel we're already watched. That's good. When I call on ye, follow what I say." With that, she bows her head, her hair falling over the sword in her lap and prays silently for a moment...

Rethe follows Elsbeth and stands to her right close to the boggy ground, he too prepares him self with a quiet silent prayer and flicks his hair loose - as he composes himself a change seems to come over him. When he straightens again he seems to take on an aura of power - he appears taller and more majestic than before and his moustaches and hair are alive with static. He has changed from a simple traveller to a powerful druid in his full majesty.

He then stands ready, his bundle of leaves held symbolically before him.

Elsbeth sits very quietly for a bit, her lips moving in silent prayer, her hair draped about her like a halo. Then, she begins to speak. As she does, her voice takes on a steady maturity and dignity.

"Forces of water, earth and air; Gods of the streams, land and wind. We come to this place for healing, for remembrance, for honor. From death, to rebirth and life, we come and go by the wisdom of ye.

"Mighty Gods and Goddesses, before ye comes Callum, mighty warrior, lad of honor. He brings ye the three heads of his enemies, taken in battle, given ye in thanks. This is the first sacrifice, the sacrifice of the enemy, slain in combat." She looks to Callum, holding her hand out to the bog.

Callum steps forward to the edge of the bog, bows to Elsbeth and speaks:

"Ard-mhàthair, gabh so ìobairt thusa agus leanabh a th'agaibh. Ceann seo,"

He casts the first of the three heads into the bog.

"tabhair-mi gu Morrigan - coirbidh-na-bhlàr. Ceann seo,"

He casts the second head into the bog.

"tabhair-mi gu Lugh - tabhairach na siol riastarthae. Agus Ceann seo,"

He casts the final head into the bog.

He pulls out a small dagger with which he slices his forearm and allows the blood to drip on to the earth, before stepping back and handing the dagger to Elsbeth.

Elsbeth's brow furrows as she listens to Callum, then she nods, taking the dagger carefully from him. She holds it in her right hand, Callum's blood still marking the blade.

"From the Warrior comes the gifts of three, won in conquest of evil. For the second, I call on ye, Beloved Brigantia. In your woods and glades did our enemies find life and death. To your bosom they return, ever in the cycle of life, death and rebirth. My gift I be giving is the cycle of life itself."

The young woman holds up Callum's blade. "The Warrior gives the blood of death, of death in honorable battle." She hesitates, her hand shaking slightly, then she draws the blade across the palm of her hand, biting her lip against the pain as her own blood flows. "From the land comes the blood of life, of the pure and unstained." She bows her head in momentary prayer as her blood drips to the ground. She then squeezes her fist tight, forcing the blood to slow, then stop.

"From both comes rebirth, the cycle complete." She holds the blade now stained with her blood and Callum's, then thrusts it deep into the bog, submerging it beneath the water. "These are given, to Brigantia, to the spirits of land and water, and to the Bosom of the Great Mother."

"As we complete the cycle to ye, I ask Rethe to bring the third gift- the gift of healing, of the land restored." She looks to the other druid expectantly.

Rethe stands tall, holds the garland of leaves forward, and speaks loudly in the same language that Callum used, although it is clear that  he is  stuggling  with a little used language.

Ard-Mithair glac na duilleogGlac na duilleog na tuathDair-righ,  Mistletoe-righPlandak na DianectBhur tabhair  Ard-Mithair

He pauses for a moment and the speaks again

Great ones, take these leaves The leaves of this land The mighty Oak and Mistletoe The plants of Dianect, We give to you our mother. 

He bends to touch the garland to the earth and then holds it high in the air, before casting it into the bog. 

By the earth and the air and the waters of the land, may these leaves help bring healing both to land itself and all of  your  followers within it.

The garland seems to  split  apart in  mid air  and the leaves flutter down to rest on the surface of the bog, covering the area where the heads and dagger landed. 

Then he looks back  to Elsbeth to complete the ceremony.

Elsbeth raises her hands, the blood still on the left palm, mud on the right. Her hair hangs raggedly about her face and shoulders. She looks now less the daughter of an elder of the clan and instead the wild offspring of the woods.

"All present, I call on ye to offer these gifts as a clan, as those gathered together to celebrate a victory, to promise revenge, to remember those passed." She pauses, then speaks, allowing the others to follow as they choose…

"Ard-Mithair, Beir na a trí siopas!"

As the voices die out, Elsbeth leans forward until her hair touches the ground, her arms outstretched. She begins to pray, uttering a language that is neither Norse nor Celt, a tongue unknown to her friends and travelling companions. Her voice is soft, intimate. This continues for several moments.

Rolf watches the rite with interest, finding it oddly significant, yet unfathomable. The symbol of death, the symbol of healing, the binding of the two. Rolf finds himself swept up in the ritual. He quietly tugs an amulet from within his armor, hung from his neck on a leather string and made of bone. Carved upon it, the Norse sign Othila, man and natures interdependence. Stepping up to a place behind Elsbeth, in a soft voice, he speaks up. "If a clan we are, then it falls to me to speak in the name of our clan. By this symbol I do avow that we respect the earth that gives up it's bounty to those who walk upon it and that we and it are but two parts of the same whole." Bringing the amulet up, he brushes it with his lips before stepping back again, looking almost sheepish for having spoken up.

After her voice stills, Elsbeth remains still for a long moment longer. Then, she sits up and dips her hand in the bog, then draws it forth, the remaining mud rinsed and her palm glistening with the moisture of the water.

She stands, an unnoticed tear on her cheek, her eyes deep with emotion. She walks to Callum and gently places her wet palm over his heart, looking long into his eyes. "Brae Callum, Warrior and Guardian. Ye protect the Clan, and it honors ye. May the Gods and Goddesses grant ye many a victory, for ye have proven honor and courage." Her voice is deeper, more accented.

Elsbeth hesitates, almost as if she does not know what she is doing, but is guided by some other force. She dips her hand again and approaches Yuri, placing her hand over his heart, meeting his gaze. "Yuri, though ye've suffered so, life is your lot by the grace of the Mother. Live it full, as every day is a gift to be treasured."

Finally, she dips her hand a third time and turns, hesitating, her eyes searching. She steps forward to Madelyn, placing her damp hand over the other woman's heart, meeting her confused gaze. "Madelyn, the Mother hears th' pain in ye. For ye is the gift of rebirth, in tha' what ye have left, so much awaits. She knows well that though ye think of what ye lost, she promises what ye will find shall be greater."

Elsbeth turns to the rest, her hair damp, matted with mud; her hand still bleeding; her knees and legs muddy. Her face is one of joy... and peace. She sways and abruptly sits, overcome with fatigue.