Voces Inferi - The Dead Man’s Tongue

I call out to the Grim - "Take me to the Dogwood! I seek the help of my blood!" - and the figure of a dog seems to run past me. Still lost, I follow its path and swiftly find myself beneath the boughs of my ally. I trace the circumference of its reach with my Black Knife before plunging the blade into the earth. With my bare hands I dig a small hole beneath a large root and place my box within it. As I call to my ancestors of blood, of land and of craft, the hole is covered. I break bread, leaving the pieces of which at each cardinal direction and atop the box itself. I soak the earth in wine, honey and water. The air shifts, suddenly cold and heavy, and I feel dozens of pairs of eyes on my person. Have I attracted the attention of my kin?