Though the air is cool, the heat is enough to make me take a few steps backward. How the dreamy druid can abide in that place is a mystery to me. The draught from the flames raises the hair all about her head as she softly chants a prayer for stabiity. Calling upon Lugh for any sort of boon is a chancy thing. I prefer to play it safe and give my simple thanks for a decent harvest in these unsettled times.

As Fedelm finishes her request and backs away from the blaze, I step forward and place a small bundle on the pyre of summer. Grain from the field, a small loaf from the oven, an assortment fruits and nuts and berries, all wrapped in a square of the finest weave. This last is from the loom of my Barita, my wife. The bundle begins to char and then catch with the rest of the fire. The contents crackle and hiss and pop, and a spiral of smoke ascends skyward. I follow the hazy trail up to the stars and hope the god will be kind to us through the coming dark-time.

Now, it is time to return to the stronghold. It is time to eat and dance and drink, in honor of the god, and in celebration of his bounty. We will have our ceileidh!

I gather my wife and children to me and give a nod to the musicians. They strike up a gay tune, in total contrast to the one they played before. The Druids and I lead the procession back to the Meeting House and to the rest of our festivities.