About once a year, Hecate and the Morrigan require my services as a priestess of the dead. Today it was for a neighborhood squirrel. I found her dead in the road, hit in the last 20 minutes is my guess. I stopped the car, put on my gloves, lifted her surprisingly warm but stiff body from the wet concrete as the blood poured out of her nose, and placed her still beautiful body on the verge in the soft grass. Morrigan’s crows called out to their brothers and sisters that there had been a passing. I blessed her, wrapped her tail around her, caressed her, and left.
May she never hunger, may she never thirst.