LIKE A PHOENIX | fall feast

[gael]

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♛ GAEL Ó BROIN

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, a myriad of hanging lights flared to life around the marketplace.  Nestled within the illumination, sat a large, round table, host to a wide variety of food.  As November neared the end and winter crept closer, it was time for the Fall Feast.

The Ardent had been hard at work -- having accompanied extra hunting patrols and taking time within his own kitchen, to see the table set with more than enough food to feed everyone.  There was no head of the table, for it simply circled around; a place for a community festivity.

While he often found a simple gratification in efficient organization, Gael found none as he stood besides the table, prepared to sound the call.  He reserved an empty seat, illuminated by a small candle, for one his household was missing.

"Pittians! The table is set." The vulpine would stand by patiently for a moment as seats were taken, hazel eyes glinting gold in the light.  "As it is customary to honor those who have returned from the blooding in feasts, I would invite those who have these past two months -- [member=15823]VIRGIL M.[/member] and [member=16365]Chernabog[/member]; to have the first pick of the table.  We hail you as fully-fledged Pittians and hold you high tonight."

Gael inclined his head, taking his own seat, besides ones he saved for Aine and Kold -- who he hoped would show, but would not be overtly disappointed, should they decide they could not attend.  It was difficult to celebrate anything, in the wake of a family loss. Hopefully, we will find him soon.

"I AM A STONE" —-- gael ó broin / faerie / ardent / lamby

[aine.]

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AINE NÍ BROIN
FLESHWEAVER
FAE DRUID
INFORMATION

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[div style="width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #2e8b57; text-align: left; padding-top: 15px; padding-left: 10px"]I'LL C[color=#36829c]OME BACK WHEN YOU CALL ME

Hooves drift slowly.  The Fleshweaver lingering quietly besides her father.  Her hazel hues found a fixed place somewhere far away, staring absently into nothing.  Numbly, she took a seat, briefly finding the flickering candle and took a breath.

Her father spoke, but it felt distant.  As though his words were reaching someone else's ears.  She simply sat.  The food ahead of her, unappetizing.  She had not eaten.  She did not want to.

Perhaps she should have stayed behind.  The treehouse felt too quiet, an overwhelming sense of wrong barring her from lingering inside by herself.  She didn't want to be alone.

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© MADI