I have the occasional moment where I just drift off and my brain shows me things – visions if you will – and this was tonights. It was too intense to put in the day dream category, but what I can/will do with it is anyone’s guess.
The circle is cast by two, well clear of the light of the fire though containing it too. The crowd gathers round the fire, sitting in a circle and partaking of it’s warmth, as another ritualist steps forward and speaks. His voice rich and impassioned as he calls to the spirits.
Outside the circle of light they wait with blankets around their shoulders for warmth from the winters air. Faces painted, drums at the ready. He speaks on, louder, faster, louder faster. A final shout of ‘come’ and she moves.
A bone beater strikes the drum sharply thrice then a staccato beat is taken up. Blanket slips away, the Red Fox enters the circle. Furs at her waist, bells round her ankles. She dances twirling and yipping close the fire then close to the audience. Meeting their eyes. Engaging them in her play. The spirits come.
Then stops. Drum suddenly silent, body close to the ground, eyes intently staring into the shadows beyond the fire.
He moves forward, blanket slides away. Leather and bone. Larger and stronger than she. The Wolf steps forth. Drum beat slow and steady. She watches him intently as he sets a new rhythm, heavier and more powerful – a hunters song to her playful dance. He dances. Close to the fire, then to the audience. He howls low and growls deep. Engages them, meets their eyes. Brings them to the hunt. The spirits come.
Then stops, drum silent, staring down at the Red Fox, and she stares back unafraid. Slowly she sidles back on her knees and gets her feet beneath her. He smiles, teeth bared to her. She grins back, half feral, and suddenly they are dancing. Drum beats mixing as they stalk each other, dance each other, round the fire. Separating suddenly, encouraging the watchers to yip and howl, bark and snarl. Their drum beats faster, their feet move faster.
They stop. Face to face. Silence falls. The spirits have come.
As one they strike their drums.
Twice. A new drum is struck.
Thrice. All drums are struck.
The drummers in the circle strike the rhythm. The Fox and Wolf laugh and return to the dance, bringing the others to their feet.
The spirits are here, dance with us, dance with them, is the wordless cry.