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Hardcover
Published October 15, 2024
The architect didn't share my vision. He was bound by conventional thinking, too afraid to commune with the land and understand our customs. He served the vines in other ways, though, it must be.
The buds break with spring's warmth, but true awakening requires sacrefice. At Beltane, bury a still bloody heart beneath the rootstock, and the roots will grow strong enough to strangle the sun.
Drink that and join us. Tonight we give our pleasure to fertilise the land.
Isabelle: Shh... it's alright, now, you can rest. The plants will be cared for after you're gone. We'll bury you under the poisonous plants, and your body will nurture their growth. As it must be.
Veraison brings colour to the grapes and vitality to the land.
But true ripeness, the vine must taste like iron.
At Lammas, mix blood with the soil, snd let the roots drink.
The Horned God's Share is more than just wine. It is liquid history, the essence of this land and those who live and work on it distilled into drops of the divine. You will taste heaven, my friends, and then you have the rest of the night to take yourself there.
Oh, Horned One, accept our sacrifice.
The last grape harvest belongs to The Horned One.
At Samhain, press it not into wine, but into the earth with a drop of fresh blood.