The hut was dark, save for the smoking lamp, shadows danced around her, drawing her into vision. She sat, silent and still, waiting for what would come, opening herself to the now familiar shift.

A strange perfume filled the air, herbs and sap, burning like a fire of pine logs, but concentrated, more fragrant. Candles lit the furthermost end of the hut, which was no longer the familiar wattle and daub, but made of stone, squared and painted with tall figures in red ochre, yellow and black. They seemed almost alive in the flickering light, painted stories of strange beings, dragons and men. She knew not of what they spoke, but sensed their import and sanctity to those who had wrought them.

Looking down at herself, she saw no longer the simple shift, but a thick woollen gown, undyed and unadorned, tied by a leather belt. On her feet were sandals, not dissimilar to those she knew. Her hand flew up to the feather at her neck, but encountered only beads and a wooden pendant shaped like a crossing of roads. Her long, lustrous hair was covered by a veil, tied tightly around her head. Yet her eyes felt her own as she looked down the length of this holy place, with its high ceiling and unfamiliar scents.

Shifting her inner vision, she recognised the rainbow of light that was the signature of her home, the enclosure shared with the sisterhood. Here were the blues and greens, the gold and pinks of the sacred light that she knew. The building was strange, but the land was not.

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