by Mordant Carnival
"It was a cool Montana night. The last full moon of spring was rising behind the tall pines as I walked out of the circle of firelight, behind the cabin and into the dark. One of the berserkers had set up a wordless singing as the others laid down rhythm. I had been preparing for this night for months, learning the charm, fashioning the copper knife, praying, meditating. The day had been spent working to bring on the deep trance state I would need. Now the time had finally arrived. I chanted the spell. I leapt over the log, forwards, back, then forwards again. I took my copper knife and stuck it into the wood."
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