The Father of Cats and Strays, who wanders the between places, waiting to offer aid, or hindrance. Cai, the Stormfather; trickster, mercurial and powerful, but kind. Old Jack Rabbit, who charmed the moon down from the sky with his fiddle. Raevyn Whitefeather, who stole the moon from Old Jack when he fell asleep, because he couldn't bear not to have the shiny. Menetonka, the wise old man; horned one who roams what is left of the wild places of the world. These are our fathers. Wise men, and strong, intemperate and tricksy, fey and unspeakably Other.
But what are we to be? Brothers, lovers, strong arms, long legs, and shoulders to cry on? As men we must be more than our relationships to those around us. Our gods are wild and sly, and we must become like them to survive. What else is tribal magick about, but the survival of the people? Were the Green Men to devote ourselves to anything, it ought to be that.