As the light goes down, the day gathers to a point. This is the hour for the word you have not dared to say.
This draught sharpens the throat and warms the blood, courage not of the fist but of the spoken truth. It is for the confession, the refusal, the name you must finally speak aloud before the dark makes cowards of you both.
The Working
- At dusk, heat water until it steams but does not boil, and pour it into a bowl.
- Add a slice of ginger for heat and a sprig of thyme for nerve, and any keen herb you trust.
- Breathe the rising steam three times, drawing the sharpness down into your chest.
- Stir the brew widdershins and whisper the words you have been afraid to say into the surface.
- Let it steep until it is cool enough to drink and the light outside is nearly gone.
- Drink it down in three unbroken draughts, feeling the edge settle behind your tongue.
The Incantation
Ginger’s fire and thyme’s clean edge,
put the blade back in my pledge.
Down my throat and through my chest,
the word I’ve swallowed, I speak it best.
By the dusk and the dying day,
I have the nerve to have my say.
What I have hidden, I’ll not delay.
Speak before the last light fails, while the draught’s edge is still keen upon your tongue.