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The first frost was two nights ago, and Mabon has changed beautifully for the season: his hair is the pure-white of an ermine or a hare, to blend in with what snows will come. His already dark eyes have turned black, and his skin is mottled darks and browns, like leaf mould on the ground.
He settles on the terrace at the Mansion with a huddle of raccoons on his lap, and looks at the people who pass by with quiet interest. The raccoons mutter a little. They know that he's peaceful within him right now and therefore safe. They know that at the slightest change in him he will no longer be a haven, and they will scatter.
He settles on the terrace at the Mansion with a huddle of raccoons on his lap, and looks at the people who pass by with quiet interest. The raccoons mutter a little. They know that he's peaceful within him right now and therefore safe. They know that at the slightest change in him he will no longer be a haven, and they will scatter.