A Gathering of Witches

The night is silent, the moon bright but passing storm clouds hide its light.
The sound of rushing leaves, brushing branches, screams of the hoot owl long in the distance.
A voice from the wind calls; "come sisters, come, here in this place, here in this darkness come, come now for I call you by name; Circe, confuser of men, powers from the blue crystal, power of the wind, "I am here who calls me from my rest?
I too, Hexiba, sister of the dead came forth, showed us the power of your spells. ...