2nd of Winter, 515 AV
early morning
early morning
Dawn's light scattered over the fresh snow, breaking and reflecting a million rainbows over the frozen ground. Endrykas, the ever moving city, walked with the season's change, and the Baultimes Barrel had followed behind like a stumbling drunk. They'd -- Baultimes Crimsonedge and Cedar, with a number of other employees -- only just finished unpacking the brightly colored tents of the tavern as the seasonal procession ended; a low rumble of a thousand settling their whole lives into the frozen ground.
The tavern laid before the world in parts, a dozen shades of delicious red and dazzling gold fabrics tied up with thick drykas rope. "A present to be unwrapped," he muttered, a tired smile finding it's way on his face as he remembered how his father always tried the metaphor to encourage his participation in the season change. 'Everyone plays his part,' he would say, 'You might as well pretend it's something fun, no?' and then he'd say the same thing to his brothers and sisters, each time like it was something he'd just thought of on the spot.
Cedar fumbled the thick grass rope, a wave of anticipation hitting him, the cold momentarily forgotten. They would yell encouragements at each other, him and his brothers and his sisters. Each screaming gleefully, pretending the fastest would be the one to win his or her secret desire, opening their canvass not to a emptiness, but to a shiny new toy, a weapon, or a horse, even. Cedar had always secretly believed the game, hoping one day that he'd be the quickest to untie his rope and because he believe, really believed, he would be rewarded with something hidden between the folds of his canvass.
He glanced up nervously, pulling at the ropes embarrassingly excited.
One of the other employees stood shivering in the morning cold; she hadn't even bothered to unroll her canvass. "Don't be stupid," Cedar bit his lip, struggling against the impossibly tied knot. He pushed down against his ridiculous sense of anticipation, there wasn't any reason for it -- he'd tricked himself into believing a silly game, a game he'd long since outgrown.
It took the changeling a couple ticks, but he finally pushed one of the ends through the knot, pulling against the opposite end to loosen the rope. A small sense of accomplishment warmed him, despite himself. There wasn't anyone here who would congratulate an adult at untying a knot. He unrolled the scarlet fabric, unsurprisingly empty. Cedar convinced himself he hadn't expected anything, he wasn't a child to believe something so ridiculous.
There were no presents hiding in these canvass.
The tavern laid before the world in parts, a dozen shades of delicious red and dazzling gold fabrics tied up with thick drykas rope. "A present to be unwrapped," he muttered, a tired smile finding it's way on his face as he remembered how his father always tried the metaphor to encourage his participation in the season change. 'Everyone plays his part,' he would say, 'You might as well pretend it's something fun, no?' and then he'd say the same thing to his brothers and sisters, each time like it was something he'd just thought of on the spot.
Cedar fumbled the thick grass rope, a wave of anticipation hitting him, the cold momentarily forgotten. They would yell encouragements at each other, him and his brothers and his sisters. Each screaming gleefully, pretending the fastest would be the one to win his or her secret desire, opening their canvass not to a emptiness, but to a shiny new toy, a weapon, or a horse, even. Cedar had always secretly believed the game, hoping one day that he'd be the quickest to untie his rope and because he believe, really believed, he would be rewarded with something hidden between the folds of his canvass.
He glanced up nervously, pulling at the ropes embarrassingly excited.
One of the other employees stood shivering in the morning cold; she hadn't even bothered to unroll her canvass. "Don't be stupid," Cedar bit his lip, struggling against the impossibly tied knot. He pushed down against his ridiculous sense of anticipation, there wasn't any reason for it -- he'd tricked himself into believing a silly game, a game he'd long since outgrown.
It took the changeling a couple ticks, but he finally pushed one of the ends through the knot, pulling against the opposite end to loosen the rope. A small sense of accomplishment warmed him, despite himself. There wasn't anyone here who would congratulate an adult at untying a knot. He unrolled the scarlet fabric, unsurprisingly empty. Cedar convinced himself he hadn't expected anything, he wasn't a child to believe something so ridiculous.
There were no presents hiding in these canvass.
