“Blessed be.” The chant in unison came stronger.

Evenly, the young woman turned to the West as the young man brought a blue candle alight.

“At the West, I bring light and water to our circle. All hail the Watchtower of the West, element of water. May it watch over our circle. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be!” Stronger still the chorus echoed.

“At the North, I bring light and earth to our circle,” the priestess melodically spoke as she turned. The young man applied the fire to a green candle fixed securely in its holder. “All hail the Watchtower of the North, element of earth. May it watch over our circle. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be!” The coven’s chant lifted skyward, harmonious and strong.

The Priestess kissed the blade of the athame and lifted it upward, scribing the Pentacle in the air once more.

“All hail the four towers, and all hail the God and Goddess. We welcome and invite Pan and Diana to join us in this rite we hold in their honor. Blessed be, so mote it be!”

“Blessed be, so mote it be!” chimed the coven.

At this point, the dark-haired man had returned to his original position in the circle, and the members had joined hands, interlocking their fingers, left palm up, right palm down.

“Ariel,” his gaze leveled on the priestess, “may I ask that you lead us in the weave.”

The young woman gave a nod and after once again kissing the blade of the athame, laid it reverently on the altar before her.

“Weave, weave,” she began the melodious chant, “weave us together. Weave us together, together with love.”

The remaining members of the coven joined in and they sang the verse twice more. When the last note had drifted away on the still air, no sound was left but for the midsummer song of the crickets.

“The circle is cast,” Ariel finally said. “You may release hands and we shall remain as one.”