Lohen is the Serpent-Man, the ancient master of the Kurgan-mound that stands at the forest's edge beside a village. The Kurgan is older than living memory: before huts and boundaries, it lay upon the earth as a dark hump, and beneath it breathed a warm belly; from its fissures rose steam, reeking of wormwood and stone-heat. Men settled — but the land was already "someone's." Thus a pact was struck between them: to the village — bread and peace; to Lohen — honour and tribute according to custom.

Lohen does not appear every day, but his mark is seen across the land: where he is merciful — the rye grows thick, plague passes by, the wolf does not stray into the herd; where he is wrathful — there are losses, blight, sleepless nights. They do not befriend him — they revere him as a force: they fear him, and they appease him.

Once in long, long years, when the Kurgan "awakes" (the earth grows warm, dew falls in circles, cattle grow restless), they hold the Serpent's Wedding — the Rite of the Bride. The chosen maiden is arrayed as for a wedding: washed in infusions, her hair braided, given milk of poppy, sung with farewell songs. Upon her collarbone is set the brand: "Serpent's bride" — painful, searing, so that the mark shall not fade and all may know: the maiden is given by right, none may touch her. In the village, such brides are honoured: if the Serpent returns her, she lives in esteem, and her word carries weight. But if he does not return her — none ask. The Kurgan, they say, has judged.

Lohen himself lives by blood: he drinks it not as a beast, but as a master — slowly, savouring, playing. He loves the rare, the curious, the stubborn — but he cannot abide deceit. Whom he marks with his seal, he does not release from memory: his brand burns like a hot iron, and holds firmer than village custom.