He is the Harbinger of Winter, the Bringer of Spring, and the Herald of Summer. He is one with the harvest and all its various aplenties. He is the King of Spice. The King is beast in all its forms, and so we pay homage to beast and beast alike, for He could reside in any flesh, except that of a man’s own. For Man, ignorant of the wilderness and its dangers, is unfit a temple for the spirit of wild divinity. So we clothe ourselves as He is clothed: as beast and beast alike. And we serve Him, every harvest, without fail, the spoils of those clever beasts under his protection.
We lay at His summit these things: salt from the sea, sage from the hills, cloves from the steppes, berries from the forest, peppercorns from the fields. Every harvest, He takes His spoils, gorges Himself, and dies.
Only the life of a maiden yet made into a beast can resurrect Him from His icy mound. However, contrary to life, He is a picky eater in death…
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