lcome home than
_that_, looked at him exasperated beyond measure. But then she
insinuated her own witch's perceptions into his mind, looked over the
somewhat shriveled memories of her that remained to him, and resolved to
recreate his love entire before she strained it again with her
impatience.

Outside, the great glowing magnetic field of female attraction pulsed
and glowed and reached its strange streamers across the sky. The disk
with its ancient, quaint, pillared and beautiful mansion, trembled in
the current of the energy flow of the pole of life. In Feronia's hall a
dark, small witch bent to her knees and prayed a prayer, with tears
streaking her too-determined face, that this great sleeping man of hers
would return his heart where it belonged.

CHAPTER IV

Now a witch's prayer is pretty apt to find its way to the God to which
it is directed, especially when it is a white witch with black hair
doing the praying, and not a black witch with white hair, as is so often
the case.

Mother Mors, watching the small black-and-white-striped prayer winging
its way across the deeps of night, reached out her hand and gathered it
in to her whirling bosom, full of the milk of eternal kindness and soft
with the vibrant softness of darkness itself, and read it there with the
inner eyes of her heart.

That prayer contained some startling and incomplete information, and the
mention of the passing of her enemy Diana whom she had tried to entrap
herself for so long, brought Mors abruptly out of her sleep and sent her
swiftly arrowing down upon the little valley where the golden pole now
lit the whole sky.

The mystery and awesome power and majestic primal vitality of her
silhouetted against and merged with the golden glory of the primal pole
as the vast body of Mors merged and condensed and settled and came into
human form there within the great banquet hall of Eos' palace on the
disk.

Now as the body of the great Goddess of the night came into solidity
before Eos, her laughter rang out, rich and ringing and with low, dark
under-tones. Eos looked up from the great stack of ancient alchemic
formulae where she sought the solution to the incredible quandary of too
many lovers. For too-much-of-a-good-thing she could not find any
reference in the books, for they were all designed to give only
information on how to get rid of too-much-of-a-bad-thing.

Rosy to the tips of her fingers with embarrassment, Eos rose to her