Although the days were still warm, the morning chill spoke of the coming autumn and there was even a hint of mist gathered under the trees. She huffed the air to see her breath, but there was as yet none and the day promised to be bright and sunny.

The leaves, although still mainly green, gave way here and there to yellows and brown and in some corners of the forest the still heavy canopy was shocked through with red to match her hair. She smiled, her season was upon her and she would come into her own now.

She thought of misty days with the crunch of the fall beneath her feet and sun-short days that would soon herald crisp cold mornings. Her green-blue eyes glowed and she shuddered in expectation.

He would not thrive in the dwindling days to come, she knew him well. Like a noble bear he would half sleep the winter through and only embrace the world again when sister Ostara again held sway.

Some called this day Mabon, but she hated the name. Some half-baked phony from a southern clime had conjured it less than 50 years before and it conveyed nothing of the import of the season. She preferred the old ways and half-forgotten names.

The world stood in balance now, the sun with the moon, the light with the dark, the oak and the holly. But balance was a fleeting thing and soon the northern world would tumble into winter.

As she walked she came upon the forest edge and she could see now the patchwork fields all freshly mown and some were already going under the plough for the winter’s crop. The smell of the harvest lifted her soul. She thought log fires and apples. This was her time.

Then she saw him waiting under their tree. He looked cross, as well he might, his time was waning. She smiled. Waning, but not waned she reminded herself and she realised she was late.

He stood tall enough and broad at the shoulder. His strong arms wrapped in a thick weave garment now fashionable in this time and place. His hair was greying now, although not full-white and his eyes were crinkled as he watched her.

“Blessed be,” she said warmly as she approached.

“You’re late,” he growled, his wise visage regarding her sternly.

“I can be if I want,” she sounded cheeky and she liked it.

“Can you now?” he chuckled.

“The season is upon us is it not?” she danced for him in a small excited circle, mocking him.

“The seasons are in balance to be sure and winter fast approaches,” he shrugged, “but the time is not nigh, not quite yet.”

“You always sound so old-fashioned at this time of year, as if you think your words have to match the season,” she mocked.

He yawned like the bear she had thought of and he looked around as if for one last meal. “The year is as old as I feel and you sound like a brat.”

“I feel like a brat. I feel reborn,” she giggled.

He laughed and grinned warmly. For a moment he looked young and vigorous and she remembered the man she knew from the spring. “Tomorrow I may sleep in and let you play at being the mischief queen. But today the sun is up and the day promises to be a last hurrah for the summer.”

She frowned.

“Aren’t you warm?” he asked.

She was missing something and she wondered if she should leave. “No I…”

“Let me see what I can do about that,” he snarled and advanced like a nimble stag.

“Come on you can’t…” she protested.

But the snarling bear had seized her and enthroned himself on the root of the tree. It was a small matter to tumble her across his knee.

“Oh come on,” she whined, “You can’t do this.”

His hands found her gown and turned them up. The small high-cut under garments were not to his taste so he divested her of them entirely so as to expose her full apple bottom.

“Look I am sorry I was late and I didn’t mean to be so cheeky but…” she pleaded.

His hand spanked her bare bottom hard and she gasped.

“Yes you did,” he accused, but not without humour.

“Yes I did,” she ruefully agreed.

He spanked her bare bottom thrice more, imparting a sting like a late summer wasp.

“You can’t do this to me I am…” she wailed.

“You are a brat and I demand some respect.” He spanked her soundly now, letting his arm give full vent to his disapproval.

She would not cry, but her bottom was hot and burned unseasonably warm. They were supposed to be equals weren’t they? Why did he always spank her so hard?

“You can stop now, I’m sorry,” she gasped, her bottom was really quite hot now. “Please stop.”

“I might when the world is in true balance,” he chuckled.

“You mean the equinox, but that isn’t for hours yet,” she exclaimed, adding a heartfelt “Ow.”

Her bottom was redder than her hair and as hot as the autumn sun. For a moment his thoughts became spring like and he felt unseasonably potent.

“Alright, I made my point,” he laughed and set her on her feet.

She stood ruefully rubbing her bottom and pouted at him.

“Perhaps we can share one last meal together,” he suggested archly.

“It doesn’t have to be a last meal,” she said, “I mean you can visit me at yule or anytime really.”

He pulled her to him and they kissed. “I am dying,” he said without rancour, more interested in her than his words. His hand found her hot bare bottom under her skirts.

“Pish, you will be your old self come the spring,” she said huskily, more interested in his hand than what she was saying.

“I will be my new self in the spring,” he corrected her.

She pulled away from him and began swirling in dance.

“Hoof and horn, hoof and horn, all that dies shall be reborn. Corn and grain, corn and grain, all that falls shall rise again,” she sang, rather hoping that he was rising now.

“So mote it be,” he growled and fell upon her.