#2213

The river calls to me and I see it sliding through the land like a black snake beneath a leaden sky. At its banks an old woman kneels. Her garb is dark and her bent back hides her face, but I sense underneath a body wrought in steel. Her callused hands grip blood-soaked clothes; I watch as she beats them on the rocks and scours them on the sand until the waters run red, red, red. I know this river, I think. I know those clothes. I know that woman. I think I know what this means. Oh Washer at the Ford, what does your river hold for me? Oh Mistress of Dark Waters, where will your river carry me? I am ready for those cold waves to close over my head, to pluck at my body as they pull me swiftly past distant banks. Wash away the stains I bear, river! Carry away my old fears, scrub off my old cares, drown and discard my old selves! I give myself up to your flow. I give myself up to the Washer at the Ford.

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#2139

Hail to the Morrigan, Phantom Queen and prophetess!
Hail to the Morrigan, sovereign of the battlefield, carrion-crowned!
Hail to the Morrigan, Nightmare Queen!
Hail to the Morrigan, lady of blood and bone and belladonna!
Hail to the Morrigan!

Great queen, I ask for Your help in this time of struggle:
show me how to win the battle and outlast the war;
teach me how to survive and thrive on death like Your black-winged children;
make of me a witch and warrior worthy of fighting in Your name,
that I may neither falter nor give ground
but to my very last breath protect what is mine.

Hail to the Morrigan, Phantom Queen and prophetess!
Hail to the Morrigan, sovereign of the battlefield, carrion-crowned!
Hail to the Morrigan, Nightmare Queen!
Hail to the Morrigan, lady of blood and bone and belladonna!
Hail to the Morrigan!