Night wind stomps hoofbeats through the briar,
Three flames summon faltering shadows
On the faceless face of one who sits:
A name uncertain, a presence felt.
More real than real, more dream than seen –
A dream of trees, of branches like antlers,
Or antlers like oaks.
A storm, a calm, a snake grasped without fear.
An offer made and one returned:
The torc held out, well worth the weight.
Now falls silence and the rain.