Once we spoke the speech of soil and sprouts. Once, we sang the songs that prayed away the droughts. Once, we whispered to the shadows of winter to keep our fires fed. Once we howled with wild kin and told stories to our dead. Once, we bowed before the stones and slept inside the trees. Once we danced with spirits like smoke upon the breeze. Once, we read the tracks of dreams and deer, in that time long ago, when we sought the wisdom of earth with love, not fear.

Inside are those who ride with dreams with deer: priest and priestess of the primal faith; apprentices to deep magic and the old ways in new skins; agents of Mystery who keeps the language fire in service to Her, and to you.

Are you curious about these ways and your true names? If so, speak your holy words and enter . . .