coarse images

The Black Lord of the Witches, the Dark God of the two Horns, is the archetypal initiator-psychopomp who separates the subtle essence of the soul from the coarse material image of the body and who grants the extasis of night-transvection in the ‘living death’ of magical trance. When darkness covers the world and all are asleep in their beds, he is the dark-robed Master who summons forth the Wise to go out of themselves, riding on the turbulent storms and tempests over brake and thicket, ditch and dale to the realms beyond. As the Great Sorcerer and Lord of the Dead, the Horned One enables such translations into the spirit and opens the Devil’s Road to the High Sabbat.
—  Nigel Jackson, Masks of Misrule
The Black Lord of the Witches, the Dark God of the two Horns, is the archetypal initiator-psychopomp who separates the subtle essence of the soul from the coarse material image of the body and who grants the extasis of night-transvection in the ‘living death’ of magical trance. When darkness covers the world and all are asleep in their beds, he is the dark-robed Master who summons forth the Wise to go out of themselves, riding on the turbulent storms and tempests over brake and thicket, ditch and dale to the realms beyond. As the Great Sorcerer and Lord of the Dead, the Horned One enables such translations into the spirit and opens the Devil’s Road to the High Sabbat.
—  Masks of Misrule: The Horned God and His Cult in Europe, Nigel Jackson
A Fresh Start- Part 3

See the rest of the series here!

Fandom: Harry Potter
Warning/s: None
Rating: Teen +
Pairing/s: Draco x Reader

Summary: After heading into the Forbidden Forest for a run in wolf form to free yourself of the stress of your new school, you’re found by Draco in animagus form and he confronts you about it. But things go a tad bit more flirtatiously than you’d feared.

Words: 1,541

Shaking off your human skin like a coat, you merged into your animagus form and rolled your hackles as you shook your head, accustoming yourself to the change. Pawing the dirt ground, you snapped your teeth and snarled at the empty air; then launched yourself between the trees with a lupine power in your muscles.

The feel of the wind carding through your coarse fur was soothing and you felt as though it had been an age since you’d breathed fresh air- air that carried with it the musky scent of woodland.

Tossing your head back, a howl burst forth from your lungs and soared up through the trees to the reddening late afternoon sky. Claws tore up the dry ground and ripped small green shrubbery from its roots.

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