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To bold-hearted Magla I offer my praise,
Magla of the lowlands, of the green riverside.
Magla the huntress, crouched in the dawning fog,
watching patient and still, supple bow in hand,
sharpened shafts kept close, you know the strength of flesh
and thew, you know the worth of a keen eye
and an agile mind, the call of need and instinct.
Magla, guide of the chase, mistress of coursers
and hounds, chief of clan and tribe, ever you endure;
as the earth is rent, the trees torn root from clay,
as the soil is soaked with blood and sorrow,
ever you abide. Goddess, I pay you homage.
Fieldstones 