The moon hung low and heavy in the sky, spilling silver light over the twisted oaks of Elderwood Hollow as the May Day revelry began. Bursting with laughter and stilted courage from the dregs of their mead, two sloshed revelers stumbled into the clearing where the coven of witches had gathered, their ancient chant rising like smoke into the chilled air. With a loud, braying whoop, one of the drunks tripped over a gnarled root, crashing into an ornate altar of herbs and bones, sending cackling black feathers swirling into the night. The witches, wrapped in shadows and disenchantment, paused mid-spell, their fiery eyes narrowing at the intruders who brightened this dark night with nothing but drunken folly and the promise of chaos.
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