Phoenix Maplewood for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand

the ring brought him to a sudden halt, but it did not frighten him. that, he was sure of.

aditya padded toward the fungi with interest, muzzled tipped low, inhaling their earthy scent. the ground was wet, and ahead, a group of happily replete turtles dozed; they would good snacks, if he was able to catch them unawares. but his eyes were only for the mushrooms, now.

where had they come from? adi had been to feller's pond a thousand times or more--perhaps an exaggeration, but it seemed a great many occasions--and he'd never seen these before. he would have remembered. not only for their perfect shape, the contrast they cut against the forest. . .but for the aura surrounding them. something pulling him in, inch by inch.

while others might have found the circle ominous, he was enchanted. the spirits that danced here were ancient and benevolent. he closed his eyes and thought he heard music. far off, faint. lilting songs and the pitter-pat of tiny steps in rhythm.

some might have written it off as jaadoo--magic. his uncle certainly would have. but this was on a different level entirely, to aditya, in the realm of the divine. this was hari's work, and he looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark wolf in the shadows. it had been many moons since hari had visited his dreams.

had the time come again, for his god to meet him face-to-face? without any inkling of fear, aditya stepped into the ring, waiting for hari to come.