The ground was frostbitten with winter's kiss, the dirt path through the woods rutted, spiked and as hard as the cobbled streets of the city so that heavy boots thumped in a heartbeat rhythm that echoed through the trees. The men who wore them were not cautious or afraid. They were pious, good men, and evil was to be put to the sword. She knew they were coming before their heavy tread touched the forest floor. It was time. Her time. The time for change. Maiden, Mother, Crone.
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