She dreamed of a man with a trout skin cloak, dappled in greens, blues and purples. A man with wild eyes and a feel of the shaman about him, who spoke languid as water.
Her hand delved in and shuffled away, she pulled another card. A woman, a green woman, with nettles in her hair and bushflowers all around her. A blend of the two realms.
“A herb? Hardly, try a blue faced elder Celtic Godess of Winter! She was said to rule the cold part of the year and then either turn to stone, or back into a maiden once again, depending on your story at the coming of spring. She carried a staff that turned all it touched to winter. Also a friend to the wild animals in such times, a solitary kind of figure....”
the Cailleach is said either to turn to stone come Imbolc, battle with, or become Brigid in a cyclical metamorphosis. “Don’t underestimate her skills though... a fine inspiration for poetry, blacksmiths, occult and healing arts it’s said.”
