Old Europe held one shared, bone-deep belief:
the winter solstice belongs to the spirits who roam, and to the gods who lead them.
This is not just the sun standing still.
This is the night when hooves strike the sky.
When wolves pace in circles.
When the dead rise in numbers.
This is the Wild Hunt—
not a myth, but a storm of ancestors, gods, witches, beasts, and lost souls
sweeping across the dark midwinter heavens.
Every door was barred.
Every lamp stayed lit.
Not against thieves—
but against immortals.
This is your guide to navigating that night with power and clarity. The Wild Hunt is not just a story—it’s a map of how witches survived midwinter, protected their homes, and worked in a world where spirits were felt more than seen.
These rites survive in Alpine, Baltic, Germanic, and Slavic winter traditions recorded by 19th–20th century ethnographers.
It has many names and many faces:
Different lands, same lesson:
Do not whistle.
Do not look up when the wind changes direction.
Do not speak the name of a spirit unless you’re ready for it to answer.
To the uninitiated, these were warnings.
To witches, they were instructions on how to listen.
If you want more winter lore, see Winter Solstice Witchcraft from Old Europe.
The winter solstice splits the year.
Light hesitates.
The world stops breathing for a moment.
This stillness opens a door—
and through it, the Host rides.
The Hunt is not just fearsome.
It is functional.
It sweeps away stagnation.
It purges disease, misfortune, and old sorcery.
It scours the land clean so the new year can take root.
A witch who greets the Hunt correctly
earns protection for a full turning of the seasons.
These rites were common across the colder regions of Europe:
Burned in the Highlands, the Balkans, and the Carpathians.
Its sting forces wandering spirits to withdraw.
Sweep the smoke outward—
never into the home.
Forged metal blocks fae, spirits of the dead, and storm riders.
Nails, sickles, horseshoes, blacksmith’s scraps.
Iron remembers fire.
Fire keeps spirits honest.
A charm of red wool, tied nine times at sundown.
Each knot seals a ward.
Hung above the bed until Twelfth Night.
Salt fixes the living to the living world.
Scatter a pinch at each corner before midnight.
These plants were favored by winter witches:
For vision, clarity, and dream-walking.
Burned so the witch stays “awake within sleep.”
The death-tree.
A branch at the door keeps restless spirits out.
A single thorn in the window blocks Perchta’s blade.
A hedge of blackthorn was a fortress in itself.
A plant loved by the dead and feared by the living.
Burned to declare to the Hunt:
“I stand unafraid.”
To go deeper into this herb’s spirit-work, see Wormwood for Lucid Dreaming.
Folklore is unbending:
You lower your head.
You plant your feet.
You say:
“I belong to the living.”
And you never accept a gift—
no feather, no coin, no branch, no food.
Anything offered by the Host binds you to them.
Perform at midnight, or when the wind shifts suddenly.
Speak:
“Winds of the Hunt, pass over.
Riders of storm, ride on.
My threshold is guarded.
My fire is my own.”
Simple. Old. Effective.
The Old European Winter Witch Bottle was one of those vessels—built to say “Not this house.” If you want to work with authentic solstice-era counter-magic, this is where to begin.
Read about the ritual and the ingredients you’ll need: Witchy Winter Bottle: Solstice Magic.
Because the Hunt is a reminder
that humans are small
but not powerless.
Because the solstice teaches us
how to stand between worlds without losing ourselves.
Because midwinter is a death
and a rebirth.
The sun dies.
The Host rides.
And the year turns.
A witch who understands this rhythm
walks into the new year
protected, sharpened, and unshaken.
A raging procession of spirits—led by gods, ancestral riders, or winter goddesses—crossing the solstice sky.
Because the stillness of midwinter opens the boundary between worlds.
With juniper smoke, iron, salt wards, red-wool knots, and evergreen charms hung until Twelfth Night.
Mugwort for vision, yew for keeping out the dead, wormwood for fearlessness, and blackthorn to block harmful spirits.
Folklore says yes. Never stare, call to them, or accept anything they offer.
Lower the head, remain still, and speak:
“I belong to the living.”