As she lay foaming at the mouth she could only point to the cellar door. He wept and wept as he wiped her mouth but he did not want to leave her. She seized further and pointed more until the energy was being further sapped.

--What? What is it my love? Tell me?

She touched his cheek and then his heart and whispered. No, she did not whisper, she was reciting the Coincidencia Apositorium onto him. She had passed it onto him, as she too, passed away from the world. He bolted to the cellar door and opened it with one hand, with the other wiping his face.

It was dark but a foul smell was emitting that it burnt his nostrils. He felt his way onto the stone walls. The burning that was in his nostrils now extended into his heart and without warning, all of the torches lit without warning.

It was all there. The apothecarium, the tomes, the vials and the hexing tools. He would be the first. He did not understand? Did she impart him with a curse or a gift?

Her dying wish was to be fed back to nature. Wiping the ink stains on his face he took her body to the glades where she would be fed back to the world. This was the first incident of a absent initiation.

--

Cynomia had been revered for her witchcraft, and so it was to a surprise that when people approached her hut, they ran out of fear when a man glad in wolf-skin would greet them at the door. This was no witch that they had ever heard of. Or the witch had finally given into the other side.

The years passed by when he had no one. It was plenty of time to perfect his craft. He practiced and practiced and successfully broke three tracking hexes that Cynomia's enemies had placed adjacent to the hut once they learnt that a man had been initiated into the sisterhood.

But the years took their toll on him too. The rumors were starting to grow of the wolf-man who haunted the hut and he suspected that this too, was the work of the sisterhood to drown him out and forbid any male influence on the craft.

To this end, he crafted his own incantation. An incantation against fear:

Fear is the masked beast
That haunts the holy verses
I bid you stranger, to meet,
The wolf that cures the curses.

He laid these in rune form and blew them over the hut. It was experimental to say the least. But with his eyes weary and Cynomia's presence still over him, he was grasping at contact. Perhaps this was a curse after all.

At the twilight hour, a young man's voice cried out:

--Ho there! Wolf-man! Are you the wolf-man?

He turned out and looked in surprise.

A man holding a fair maiden who had seemed to be passed out was approaching the hut. A subtle glow beamed from him, to see people after so many years.

He always asked Cynomia how she knew she had the gift. And after many embraces and passionate nights, she yielded to him.

"There are cycles my love. Like the moon waxes and wanes. Events repeat. Once you see the event repeat itself purposefully, you have the calling"