The ancestors knew.
They paid homage to moons, full or new. They left yearling calves and walked away, chins high as the beasts screamed in fear.
They never dared look back.
As generations shifted, manners were forgotten. Worship ceased. Great smears of blood across barn doors, always on a black moon, tried to warn them. They paid no heed to the babbling elders, nor the missing livestock. These things happen.
But when the children went missing, leaves and moss left in their place, they worried. Too late. Too lost. Too much hunger festered.
The Green Lady would have her due.
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alt="136694 by S.F.J. Painter"
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alt="Teke Two by Liam Hogan"
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