The witch is friend to the small gods of neglected places. She knows the limits of their domains – this corner of wood, this edge of field – and still she sings to them. Her songs are part of the long memory of the land. We catch their echo. = Emily Banting, 1981


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A bunch of technomancers in the fediverse. Keep it fairly clean please. This arcology is for all who wash up upon it's digital shore.