The day of the ritual had come, and the omens were not good; rain poured down, cold and vicious, knifing through the darkening sky. The weather threatened the ceremonial fire and attendants rushed to build enough of an overhang to protect the flames, flinching each time the thunder rolled overhead.

Ahren, however, watched the scurrying attendants with little interest, fingering the edges of her Mask nervously. The Fox Mask. It was both an honour and a curse, in a way, to have been chosen to Dance as Fox the Clever, Fox the Swift... Fox, who had not descended in nearly a century.

Fox, apparently, did not like the responsibility of being the year Goddess.

And so Ahren was trapped -- if she Danced well, she would be cast as Fox for the rest of her life as a Dancer, and if she Danced poorly, she would never Dance again. Either way, she'd never be part of an Ascension.

The clouds remained dark overhead, when the bell tolled the hour, and Ahren turned away to join the other Dancers for the final stages of preparation.

When the sun set, one by one they filed out into the courtyard, the rain chilling their naked bodies, flattening the feathered and furred and scaled masks against the faces of the Dancers that wore them. There was a collective sigh of relief when they saw that the fire still burned at the yard's heart -- the ritual would go on.

With only the crashing thunder for accompaniment, they began to dance, Wolf and Snake and Lion and Fox and all the rest of the Hundred whirling around the fire together. The bitterness, fear of failure, the nervousness and alienation that Ahren had been all but crippled by an hour before vanished in the Dance, in the heat that rose off the bodies of her fellows, steam rising to meet the rain. Each ritual step, each sweep of arm or hair, brought the moment of Ascension closer, and as the power built, she was no longer entirely Ahren -- she was also Fox the Wily, the Quick, and whether they Ascended together or not, they were a Goddess, right here, right now.

Lightning struck the overhang protecting the sacred fire and sparks flew, hissing and sizzling against wet, naked flesh. Someone cried out, a raptor's scream, and the door opened.

Through a tear in the sky, blue skies showed, a momentary glimpse of the heavens, and the Dancers halted, waiting, tense and sweating and eager. Who would Ascend? Which of them would go through that door to reign over the year?

Another scream, and a golden form raced through the crowd and through the door. The door snapped shut, the fire died, and with a sigh, the Dance ended.

The Dancers gathered close, hugging each other and crying, laughing, full of energy and wonder. Ahren, herself and alone now, took solace in this closeness, her brother and sister Dancers filling part of the emptiness that Fox's departure had left. But, as the tide of joy ebbed, the Dancers began to turn towards the fallen of their number.

Rabbit. The fur of her mask was limp and wet, her naked body small and curled in on itself as she lay on the stones of the courtyard.