Goth Hippie Adventures

You have that spirit with TEETH coming out of the loon- and that would be enough, but what is UP with that moose?

Even people who don’t know moose can spot the glowing spot at its heart. So already creepy. But what I know is that moose don’t have those kinds of eyes. It’s why they are so easy to miss in the dark- no reflective eyes. That moose is wholey unnatural.

Those poor people off in the tent all cozy and telling stories as a family, not knowing there are HORRORS outside-

Sir Kay

Sir Gawain

But Carthage was much more than a foil for the Romans. It was a fascinating civilization, but, thanks to the Roman destruction, we can only get glimpses of their gods:

Their writing:

And their culture:

Much more about what we know (and don't know) about Carthage here:

@post-brahminism check it

Dropping the latest Sketch-a-Wish, voted on by my lovely Patreon members for July, featuring Sybil, Rory and the gargoyle from THE KNIGHT AND THE MOTH by Rachel Gillig!

"For decades, wolf researchers believed ravens followed wolf packs to find food. Every biologist who flew aerial surveys over Yellowstone saw the same thing.

Wolves moving across the snow with ravens overhead, black shapes trailing the pack like a shadow with wings. The assumption was simple. The ravens were following the wolves. The wolves would kill. The ravens would eat. A study published in March 2026 using GPS transmitters on wolves, cougars, and ravens in Yellowstone proved the assumption wrong.

The ravens were not following the wolves. They were remembering where kills had happened before and flying over those locations looking for new carcasses. The relationship between the two species is real. The mechanism is not what anyone thought it was.

Bernd Heinrich, a University of Vermont biologist who spent years studying ravens in Maine and Yellowstone, first documented the scale of the association. His data showed ravens present near wolf packs 99.7 percent of the time during winter in Yellowstone. Not occasionally. Not frequently. Essentially always. On Isle Royale, researcher John Vucetich observed the same pattern from the air.

Every wolf pack had ravens with it. The birds were just always there.

The numbers at kill sites are staggering. The average number of ravens documented at a Yellowstone wolf kill is thirty. The maximum recorded at a single carcass is 135.

A wolf pack brings down an elk in the Lamar Valley, and within hours over a hundred ravens have materialized from across the drainage to feed. They do not wait politely. They land on the carcass while the wolves are still eating. They grab chunks of meat and cache them in the snow and in tree crotches for later retrieval. Research estimates that ravens can consume up to forty percent of a carcass, which means a wolf pack that kills a seven-hundred-pound elk may lose nearly three hundred pounds of it to birds.

That loss is so significant that one study proposed a theory that reshapes how we think about wolf pack size entirely. If a pair of wolves can take down an elk, why do wolves hunt in packs of four, six, eight, or more? The per-capita meat return decreases with every additional mouth. A pair gets the most meat per wolf. The answer may be ravens. Two wolves cannot eat fast enough to outpace a hundred ravens stripping the carcass simultaneously. A larger pack can post guards, feed in shifts, and physically dominate the carcass long enough to retain a greater share of the kill. Wolves may hunt in packs not because they need more teeth to bring down prey, but because they need more bodies to defend the kill from birds.

The ravens pay for their meals. Heinrich documented in his book Mind of the Raven that ravens serve as an early warning system at kill sites. Ravens are more vigilant than wolves. They perch in trees overlooking the carcass and scan the horizon in every direction. When a grizzly bear approaches, or a rival wolf pack, or a mountain lion, the ravens see it first. Their alarm calls alert the feeding wolves to the incoming threat before the wolves' own senses detect it. The wolves get airborne sentries. The ravens get an animal with the jaw strength to open a frozen elk carcass that no raven beak can penetrate.

That is the core of the mutualism. The raven cannot open the hide. The wolf can. The wolf cannot see a threat approaching from a mile away while its head is buried in a rib cage. The raven can. Each species fills a gap in the other's capability, and the result is a partnership so consistent that L. David Mech, the most published wolf researcher in the world, wrote that each creature is rewarded in some way by the presence of the other and that each is fully aware of the other's capabilities.

The play behavior is the part that makes biologists uncomfortable because it implies something beyond transactional mutualism. Wolves and ravens play together. Not at kill sites. Not during feeding. During downtime. Yellowstone observers have documented ravens diving at resting wolves, pulling their tails, and flying away. Wolf pups chase ravens across meadows. Ravens steal sticks from pups and hold them just out of reach. The interactions look like the cross-species equivalent of two bored kids messing with each other because there is nothing else to do.

Doug Smith, the retired lead biologist of the Yellowstone Wolf Project, had watched this relationship from the air for decades. Wolf researchers have believed forever that ravens follow wolves, he wrote after the 2026 study was published. Every wolf researcher has seen it. I have seen it routinely from the plane while wolves are chasing an elk in Yellowstone Park, numerous times. Ravens are just always there. This is an age-old observation. But it has never been rigorously tested until now.

The 2026 study, which used 2.5 years of GPS data from transmitters on wolves, cougars, and ravens simultaneously, revealed that ravens were not tracking wolf movements in real time. They were patrolling known kill sites. A raven that fed at a wolf kill in a specific drainage in November would return to that drainage repeatedly over the following weeks and months, flying over the exact location where the carcass had been, checking whether a new kill had appeared. The ravens were not following the wolves. They were following the memory of where wolves had killed before.

That distinction matters because it changes the raven from a passive follower into an active strategist. A bird that follows a wolf pack is reacting. A bird that memorizes kill locations across an entire landscape and patrols them systematically is planning. The raven is not tagging along. It is running a surveillance network across hundreds of square miles of Yellowstone, checking sites where food has appeared before, and showing up fast enough when it appears again that every observer since the 1995 reintroduction assumed it had been following the wolves the whole time.

The wolf and the raven share almost identical geographic range across the Northern Hemisphere. Everywhere wolves live, ravens live. The association is not a Yellowstone novelty. It is a continental relationship between two of the most intelligent species in North American wildlife, running continuously across boreal forest, tundra, mountain, and prairie, built on meat, memory, and a mutual awareness that neither species has ever needed to be taught."

When I built my first altar, it looked like a sad thrift store shelf, mismatched candles, half-melted incense sticks, a chipped mug standing in for a chalice. I was so desperate for it to look witchy, like the glossy photos in books. But it didn’t feel like mine. It felt like a stranger’s stage.

It took me years, and many messy, candle-wax-soaked attempts, to realize: your altar isn’t an Instagram post. It’s a heartbeat. It’s your magic’s nest. It should feel like home, because it is one.

Here’s how I’ve learned to build an altar that breathes with you, one that feels like warm floors, familiar shadows, and the exact right hush of your spirit.

🕯️ 1. Know What An Altar Really Is

Strip away the fancy words: an altar is just a sacred spot. It’s where you gather your power and your gratitude in one place.

It can be as humble as a windowsill or as grand as a dedicated room. A shelf, a table, a box, all that matters is intention.

Think of it as a tiny crossroads: your body, your spirit, and your magic meet there. The rest is just trimmings.

🌿 2. Start With What Calls You

Forget the shopping list that says you must have a pentacle, a wand, a chalice, this and that.

Ask: what do you reach for when you feel witchiest? A candle that smells like your grandmother’s kitchen? A stone you found at the river? A jar of salt?

Your altar is not a museum. It’s a nest of meaning. Let it be ugly at first. Let it be real.

🔮 3. Give It a Heartbeat

I always tell baby witches: your altar’s alive if it changes with you.

Maybe you set it up on the floor for a spell, then move it to a shelf when you get a cat who loves knocking things over. Maybe you swap the flowers every season. Maybe you leave offerings that rot a little, because magic is not sterile.

Mine has bits of charred candle wicks, a cracked seashell, and a scrap of cloth from my mother’s apron. I clean it, but I don’t bleach it of history.

🗝️ 4. Make It a Conversation

An altar is not a monologue. You don’t just speak at it. You speak with it.

When you light a candle, linger. When you place a new object, ask it, “What do you bring here?” Listen. Maybe you rearrange things when they feel stale. Maybe you sleep with a stone under your pillow before giving it a spot on your altar, so it knows your dreams.

This is the bit the books forget to tell you: your altar listens back.

🌙 5. Protect It, But Don’t Police It

It’s good to cleanse your altar, blow off dust, pass smoke over it, ring a bell if it feels heavy.

But don’t let perfectionism be your deity. I once wasted hours agonizing over where to put a feather. It’s a feather, Nyra. Spirits don’t care if it’s center-left or right.

Your hands are sacred. Trust them.

🕸️ A Few Simple Ideas To Try

Place something that represents each element, but only if it feels real to you. A rock, a candle, a cup of water, a pinch of salt.

Add one thing that smells good. Scent ties your spirit to memory.

Leave an offering to your guides or ancestors, even if it’s just a whisper of thanks.

Keep a tiny cloth or broom nearby to sweep off old energy when needed.

🌒 A Final Whisper

Your altar is not a shrine to aesthetics, it’s a mirror for your spirit.

Build it slow. Let it shift. Let it hold your tears, your giggles, your burnt matches and hopeful wishes.

One day you’ll sit at that sacred little corner, a mug of tea in hand, and think: This is mine. And it will hum back: Yes. And I am yours.

Wow! Azurite and malachite combined like this is stunning. What are your thoughts?

AAAAA PHEW i just finished binding a bunch of new zines that compile my PNW fantasy sketch pages :”) just in time for when I get to table at the Portland Zine Symposium tomorrow!!!!! if anyone’s in the area come say hi!!!

So this zine managed to sell out twice, and your guys' support on it kinda actually changed my life. ( <- I've been anxious to say it that bluntly,.. but it's true.) Thank you, seriously ;_;

For this reprint, I made a new cover (since the old one was just a repeat of one of the inner illustrations), and also added one more ecoregion: The High Desert :D So now it has:

The Coast Range

The Valley

The Cascades

The High Desert