Nate enjoys the quietude and solace of the library's upper floors. His observations are, perhaps, the most objective of anyone's as to the evolution of the lakeside approaching the night. The way the stalls and tents appear, the procession of townsfolk increasingly setting up the last of the decorations, and the distant visage of the ceremonial raft being lowered into the lake...

Hickory knocks upon the wood paneling of a bookshelf, appearing quite suddenly on the second floor and nearby to Nate. The tall, broad, and hairy man stroked a hand through his lumberjack-esque beard as he appraised Nate.

"The Odyssey, eh? How far along are you?- No, wait, I suppose a more proper question would be 'how many times have you read it'?" He laughs a deep, booming, laugh that seems to fill the space and make the ceiling beams shudder. Hickory swiftly crosses to lean against the windowframe and gaze outward at the visage that Nate had been enjoying.

“Ah how shameless -- the way these mortals blame the gods. From us alone, they say, come all their miseries, yes, but they themselves, with their own reckless ways, compound their pains beyond their proper share.”

He spoke the quote easily, calling upon the words of Zeus with his timbre-rich voice.

"I always found that passage to be particularly compelling. Mister Westmoreland, I think it would serve you well to take it to heart." The bear of a man winked roguishly at young Nate in a conspiratorial manner. "Get out of here, my boy. The night is born anew and there are demons to put to rest in the lake. Try to take it easy, these are the best years of your life after all."

Freyja gave a giggle at Ambrose's genuine concern over the demons of the lake, but not in the manner of mockery or admonishment; a simple sound of appreciation.

"Brown, more hands are always welcome. You can line up that other arch with me-- just like that, yeah, we need symmetry."

"Aye, symmetry. That's the way. Balance in all things, give and take, all things come full circle." The Fishwife chimed in, her voice warbling in her age. "Those arches represent the moon, you know."

"Yes, Goodie." Freyja said distractedly, not really paying any attention to the crone herself. She knew all the stories- most of the children knew them at least in part. The crone took this as opportunity to continue.

"The moon, the tapestry, the old bell- they were all key to calming the Lake. Aye, miss Hoar, you'd do your best or the whole town will wind up under the lake." The woman produced, at last, from her basket of cloth an aged and furled thing. She produced a surprisingly mighty gesture of waving the bundle outwards and unrolling it in a single movement, displaying to the youngsters working on the raft the old tapestry of the festival.

The cloth displayed a vertical image, of the moon overtop a lake. The lake was at the middle of the cloth, and on the bottom half the image was reversed; the lake at the top, the raft upside down upon the lake, and the water falling like rain upon the reflection of the moon. The center of the tapestry was dominated by the woven depiction of the Old Bell being struck and ripples spreading across the lake's surface.

"Do it right, or fear the night." The crone concluded superstitiously, tapping near to the bottom of the tapestry with her cane; the reflected moon displayed grotesque creatures reaching upwards towards the lake and the divine surface realm.

"Mmm. Yes'm." Freyja said dutifully, which seemed to satisfy the fishwife who now waddled away with her basket of cloths...

The three made good progress together, with help from other adults who had moments to spare- by the time the sun began to set, the trio would have lowered the raft onto the lakeside and secured it to the dock with ropes. Freyja wipes at her brow, sweat thick on her neck and shoulders, and lets out a relieved sigh.

"Oh, gosh, that's finally done. I've got to run off and get ready- I appreciate you both so much. Be here at midnight or I'll be angry with the both of you!-- Everyone had better be there!" She suddenly declared, before breaking into a sprint and scooping up the young Stigandr in her arms as she blitzed back into town to prepare for her special role that night. That girl could run like nobody else.

Time flies when you're doing hard work; Ambrose and Brown find themselves in the midst of the festival as it begins.

Damon spends much of the afternoon on the trek up to the shrine. The small group of people who were supporting the festivities and accompanying him were decent company- save for the brooding and serious visage of the youngest son of the Bilica family, Isaias. Being the only Bilica with an inclination for the artistic has rendered him the sole representation of the family in the festival preparations, and his sour demeanor has only grown the further up Mount Bilica the group traverses. The sourness finally warrants addressing and Robert Westmoreland takes it upon his shoulders to do the deed;

"--Alright, look, kid-"

"I'm not a kid." Isaias cut the older boy off. "'Daya's a kid. The little Ghost-boy is a kid. You wouldn't call me a kid if Big Z were here, so don't call me a kid now."

"Whatever. He's not, so you're 'Kid'." Robert pushed, suddenly whirling upon the boy. "You've got a good voice, and I swear sometimes I even think you could be decent if you tried, but you are seriously bringing this whole thing down. If you hate this all so much, you can just go. None of us will miss you, and you can go kick a puppy or something on your way back down the mountain. Or whatever it is you Bilica kids do when nobody is around to give you attention."

Isaias seemed as if about to speak, anger flashing across his brooding features and bringing a light and fierceness to his previously subdued expression, but he held his tongue. Gone was the weight of the unspoken loathing, and in was the accusing and sharp jab of the directed rage. A nearby girl glanced at Robert, bringing a hand to her face in a show of worry. She spoke softly;

"Robert, you're being mean-"

"No, mean is what his little sister does to Toby when nobody else is around. Mean is the song and dance that his family makes the Cheeseman kin do. This is just honest-" He pauses, gritting his teeth. "Shit, now I sound like Nate. Look, Isaias-"

"Don't say my name. Whatever, I can see I'm not wanted here." He turned, a storm in his movements, and swiftly began to walk back down the mountain. Chatter spread across the other kids, and Robert clicked his tongue before charismatically taking the reigns of the tension and bringing the situation back into something resembling peace.

"I'll get an earful from Weasel later for that, but sheesh- at least this walk can be enjoyable now that he's not bringing rainclouds down on us. Check out the view from up here."

Gazing down the mountainside at Lake Chartreuse is a mystical, almost supernatural, experience as the sun wanes on the horizon. Its orange-gold glow spills across hillock and across the grasses, creating an almost syrupy quality to the scene. The reflection off Lake Chartreuse is dazzling at this angle, and the vague outline of tents being set up can be seen even at this distance.

The rest of the trip would be in improving spirits and rising excitement.

---

The walk back would be laborious and less jovial, hauling the packs prepared by the Fontaine Duo. The venerable couple accompany the procession back down the mountain path in a serene sort of existence. Minoru and Sybille Fontaine are already clothed in the traditional garb of the Shrine Watchers, and carry between them on ancient wooden handles the Old Bell. They are silent for much of the journey, but when they finally reach the edge of town Minoru chooses to speak. Everyone falls silent as if an unspoken command bid them obeisance.

"Young Howard." He begins slowly, directing a nod towards Damon. "I look forward to seeing your interpretation of our traditional performance." His smile was an easy one. "You always bring a colorful and invigorating perspective on these things. It brings much joy to my heart whenever I hear you are participating."

It may be the first time either of the Fontaines have ever explicitly said anything of the sort to Damon, but it is true upon reflection that anything that Damon had performed publicly they had attended. Sibylle matches her husband's smile and made an addition to the prompt;

"I would, personally, enjoy hearing what you believe about the sealing ceremony itself. Young Miss Hoar was our choice in handling the ceremony, she fills the role in a most auspicious manner and it must be done precisely- but what do you think of the story, hm? The demons and the darkness beneath the lake?"

Regardless of his answer, or lack of one, the Fontaines will move on after his response. This will leave Damon free at the Start of the Festival within town.

Enrique gave a laugh, welcoming David in once again with a gesture of his arm. He quietly strolled along the counter, produced the laptop in question, and granted it into the custody of David.

"William went out into the town. He could be anywhere from halfway up mount Bilica to somewhere neck deep in the Swallow if I had to guess. I can only be certain that he is not right here!" He laughed warmly as he idly cleaned the countertop. "He's a good boy, kind and gentle- and every bit as foolish as his father was."

A brief introspective moment seemed to grip Enrique- but then the door to the bakery opened, and the easy and gentle smile settled back onto his features.

"Mencia." A gruff voice said as greeting. "Sorry for being late."

"Tom." Enrique responded with the same warmth he'd given David. "You are right on time, no apology needed." Enrique soothed the stern man's annoyance carefully. "A few minutes more cooling on the shelf can hardly matter, what's got you so worked up, my friend?"

David witnesses Tom Springer run a hand over his worn and furrowed face, as if trying to wipe the exasperation from his brow.

"It's that damnable woman, Enrique, it's like she's got a voodoo doll or something. Every time she comes home it's like she's got me on the wrack, but every time she leaves it's like she's still there over my shoulder giving me those eyes."

"Ah." Enrique contributes admirably. "Woman problems."

"Women are the problem." He grunts, turning his gaze over to David. "Learn from your elders, bud; you don't control who you love, but it'd be a damn sight easier if you could." He laughs raucously, as if his little play on words were somehow the pinnacle of wit and merriment. Enrique maintained his kind smile and nodded once. Tom turned his attention back to the baker and shook his head, still quietly laughing to himself.

"Oh, god, that was a good one. I'll need to write that one down. How much do I owe you again?..."

Their transaction goes smoothly, and Enrique soon slides a cake box onto the counter towards Tom.

"Just as you requested, Tom. I hope it helps."

"Oh, it will. With the festival going on, the brat will be out all night. That gives me and the missus a chance to make up over some red velvet and brown liquor."

"Ah." Enrique admirably contributes once more.

"Mhm. You're a life saver, Mencia." Tom says, whistling a tune as he begins to leave. He pauses at the door and rolls his neck suddenly, lifting a hand to swat at the side of his neck as if at a mosquito. _{"Devil-woman, I swear she's got some witchcraft on me."}

Then he's gone- and David realizes how late the hour has gotten. The Festival was nearly begun!

Enrique lays out a plate laden with a cupcake on the counter and chuckles quietly as he pushes it towards David.

"Consider it your tip, young man. There's a festival waiting for you."

The clearing grows more characteristically dim as the eve sets upon the Weeping Sam. Even the shattered canopy cannot forever dispel the gloom as the sun moves its way beyond the zenith and falls in the sky. However, as the two are discussing their next plan of action there's a sudden rustling amongst the nearby trees and a familiar figure emerges into the clearing; Rowan's father, Isaac. He pauses as he sees the two girls and breaks into a grin.

"Aw, shoot. You found it already." He laments upon seeing Rowan. "There goes my silly little forest surprise. You guys got any more stragglers? We're running out of daylight and the festival won't wait on us just because we've grass stains."

And as he speaks, the youngest boy of the Bilica family, Isaias Bilica, emerges from behind him and glowers at the two girls in the remnants of a stormy anger. He looked worse for wear, his clothes streaked in dirt and his shirt torn at the side. He had a bruise on his cheek that was worsening- but otherwise seemed to be as petulant and fueled by quiet anger as ever, and is fine.

"..." Isaias refuses to speak, but looks over at the fallen elm tree. His eyes widen and his perpetual rage simmers into a stunned sort of reverence at the sight. He grips onto a rope extended from Isaac's pack a little tighter, prompting the veteran ranger to glance down at him and then back at the girls.

"Ah, lad's shy around a couple of pretty girls. I see how it is." He teased, winking to the two girls to denote the playfulness of the situation and his efforts to ease tension on the young boy. Isaias blushes ever faintly at the jab. "I got a call from the Fontaines that he wasn't with the rest of the group who made the climb, and I'd say he's rather lucky I took the hike out here."

Isaac rolled his shoulders and walked through the clearing in swift strides, Isaias in tow as if being pulled by the lead-rope he refuses to release.

"Alright ducklings, time to get in a row. I know two mothers who would have my head if I let you kids get lost in the Sam in the dark. I also happen to know two very smart girls who can handle themselves- but mothers don't always see the same thing as me, so let's play this one safe, eh?"

Isaac will gently push the girls to return to New Hope; when they do so, it will ever-so-conveniently end up at the same time as everyone else! How quaint.

William and Toby begin to make their way from the Market Lane and towards the road up Mount Bilica- but find the throng of Market Lane moving with them. The hour had grown later than they anticipated, and now nearly all of the townsfolk were moving along towards the edge of Lake Chartreuse to set up the last of the tents and decorations. In the chaos of suddenly moving bodies, Toby and William find themselves swept along.

The throng suddenly parts, like a wave crashing upon a rock, and deposits the two into the vicinity of two severe figures of the town's ecology; Ashton Howard, tall and imperious, shaking hands with the aged and decrepit form of Stoat Bilica, the Elder, as he leans heavily upon a cane.

Their dialogue comes to a close, Toby and William catching the end of what appeared to have been a brief, private and hushed, conversation.

"...going smoothly, Mr. Bilica, I assure you that there's nothing to worry about." Ashton assuages the elder stoically. "You just need the votes. Worry about it after the festival."

"Bah, that bastard won't be relaxing at the festival, and neither shall I." Ezekiel pulled his hand back from the handshake and wiped it on his robe as if he'd just touched something distasteful. He thumped his cane heavily upon the ground and spat suddenly over his shoulder, into the alleyway behind him. "Hoar-sons and Hoar-daughters-- Bah!"

Toby and William witness even the monolithic Ashton Howard being forced to move suddenly as Stoat Bilica barges past him and through the crowd like a shark through the school of fish. Ashton clears his throat, dignifies himself by smoothing out his vest, then merges back into the crowd.

It was nearly time for the festival already. My, how time flies.

Odaya whirled on her feet, her red eyes piercing through the crowd like the proverbial gaze of Sauron. She, somehow, saw right through people and simultaneously was almost utterly blind at her diminutive height through the throng of the crowd. She huffs, then puffs her cheeks out, then suddenly jabs a passerby in the leg and grabs ahold of their clothes.

"Have you seen my brothers?" She demanded of the unfortunate passers-by she managed to grab ahold of. The taller adult swiveled their head around, before finally pointing in a direction. Odaya nodded, released her captive, and skipped through the crowd in the indicated direction. She pushes through a young couple, separating them with a snicker, only to find herself looking up at the, to her, towering (Yet still average for their ages) heights of three of her older brothers; Gavriel, Simeon, and Raphael.

"She found us." Simeon groans, pushing Raphael by the shoulder towards Odaya. "She's like, knee height."

"Yeah but she's also like eight, someone probably just pointed us out to her." Gavriel sighed. "Look, Raph, do something."

"Why is it always me?" Raphael began- but Odaya stuck her tongue out and stomped on his foot.

"Why is it always me?" She mocked, waving her hands in the air in a jazzy manner as the boy hobbled back from her. "Because you're a big baby and let them boss you around." She laughed hysterically, and moved between them, swaying in her jumper in a mockery of adorableness as she looked up at them all. "Whatcha doin? I'm bored."

The older of the two, Gavriel and Simeon, exchange a look.

"Well since we're still waiting on Z we were going to play a game."

"A game?" Odaya said hopefully.

"Fuck a game-" Raphael groaned- only to get muffled by Simeon's hand as he steadied the wobbly younger brother.

"Yeah, a game." Gavriel continued. "It was one of mom's favorites."

At that, Odaya's eyes lit up- but upon hearing that, Raphael grew still and nodded a few times, as if receiving a telepathic message from the other two boys at that statement. Odaya jumped up and down once, then twice, and clapped her hands.

"Then I'm gonna be the best at it!" She declared fiercely. "What is it?" Her eyes followed Gavriel's movements, and she found herself lifted up and carried by Simeon and Raphael along the path towards an ever-strange tradition of festivals; a basin laden with apples floating in water.

"Mom loved to go bobbing for apples. Here, we'll help you since the tub is so tall." Gavriel said- right before Raphael and Simeon shoved Odaya's head into the water. Everything seemed relatively benign at first, but Odaya's energetic movements do begin to show subtle signs of childish panic after a moment. Her older brothers all laugh and chatter over the scene as if it's merely a family moment of enjoyment.

Elsewhere in the Festival, sequestered beneath the largest of the tents, sits a sparkling figure. Standing out like a beacon of sequins and jewels, Maryann H-Smiite laughs like a Kookaburra. A warbling, high pitched, thing that somehow flows out naturally from her manicured visage; all curled hair and precision makeup, not an inkling of conventional and traditional heritage in her appearance.

"Oh, I am told that my Ambrose- my boy- ha!- you know? I'm told that my Ambrose helped build the Raft this year. Isn't that just darling? How quaint! He's going positively local, I tell you." She sips delicately from a glass of wine, before continuing. "Not that that's a bad thing, mind, but- ha!- You know what I mean? Positively assimilating, he is. What a proper young man, my Ambrose. My boy, that is. Ha!"

"Mm. I do have some concerns about his grades thou-" Violet Cheeseman tried to interject, but the dazzling woman interrupted the teacher by clearing her throat and lifting a hand.

"Ooo, no thank you, I don't handle the education. That'd be the father. I'll have to give you his number, miss..."

"Cheeseman, mrs. Hightower."

"Smiite, please. Hightower-Smiite." Maryann interjected firmly.

"Mrs. Hightower-Smiite."

"Mrs. Cheeseman." Maryann agreed, smiling a million kilowatt smile. Violet, temporarily stunned, blinked in silence until she found words again.

"I'm just concerned that he's only performing well with help-"

"It's good for a boy his age to have friends- ha!- I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. He's a friendly boy, sociable, in all the right circles-"

"But he's not-"

"-And his father is the one focusing on his education, you understand, so if you have any news on it do give him a call."

"But Mr. Hightower doesn't-"

"-Is a very busy man, I know-Ha!- Gods above do I know. It's a struggle, Mrs. Cheesel-"

"Cheeseman."

"-Right, Cheeseman. I understand, I truly do, but what makes you think I could get ahold of him any easier than you?" Her dazzling demeanor came crashing into a brief moment of seriousness that struck the teacher like a sledgehammer. Violet reeled from the conversational blow and stammered awkwardly for a few moments, before sighing and shaking her head.

"I just wanted to make sure he was receiving attention at home." She said at last. "To let you know that he needs support."

"I assure you. Ambrose has everything he could ever want, and more." Maryann coolly assuaged. "He has never known want."

_{"That's what I'm afraid of."} Violet murmured, acquiescing defeat and leaving the socialite woman to her wine. As the teacher escaped the woman's sphere of influence, Stoat Bilica thumped his way towards Maryann's table and deposited his aged form into the chair opposite hers. Maryann raised an eyebrow, perceiving this as a social faux-pas, but gestures with a gloved hand to the elder; the two begin to speak in hushed voices.

---

Outside that same tent, the parents of Freyja and Stig Hoar stand; their faces bright, their expressions joyous and vivacious, and their their demeanor that of everyone's best friend. The mother holds Stigandr in her arms, whilst the father shakes hands and exchanges pleasantries with those who pass by. Freyja is nowhere to be seen, but the disparity of the perceptions of the Hoar and Bilica families are made even more obvious by this scene.

Everywhere Stoat Bilica treads, the paths clear and people let him through as if he were a boulder coming downhill. Wherever Mr. Hoar treads, people go out of their way to greet him and ask about his day or share a story of their own. The atmosphere outside the main tent radiates this perpetual friendliness, and it radiates out through the festival like a comfortable blanket. Truly the Hoar family were pillars of the community.

Wong Liang can be seen hesitating, holding a wrapped box in his hands. He sighs, steels himself, then approaches through the crowd. Before he can speak, Mr. Hoar calls out to him;

"Wong, how are you? How has David been?"

"Well." He nods once, his words coming quick and after a moment of thought. "We are both... Well."

"I'm glad, are you enjoying the festival?"

Wong has to pause again and slowly turns in a circle, taking in the world around him, before bowing partially to Mr. Hoar and nodding several times.

"It reminds me of Home." He smiled brightly as he said it, his words still halting and broken despite his time in New Hope. Mr. Hoar laughs and gently pats the man on the shoulder.

"I'm glad, this place is your home for as long as you need it to be. The Armstrongs tell me that you and your son are invaluable to New Hope already."

"You honor me." He gasps, eyes wide. "--Stop, I am....Distracted. A gift, please, for you and your bride." Wong offers the wrapped box out to the Hoar family, stepping back to bow once again.

"You don't need to give us anything." Mr. Hoar began earnestly, but Wong continues;

"Please. We have been...Welcomed. Taken care of. It is from the... Heart."

Mr. Hoar takes the box and, after a glance to his wife, beams and excitedly tears the wrapping paper apart then opens the lid. H e shows it to Mrs. Hoar who exclaims;

"It's lovely! Oh, my!" She laughs a beautiful laugh- a laugh which makes the young Stig in her arms smile brighter and reach for her hair, much like he does with Freyja.

"It is from my home. A tea set." Wong says nervously. "I know it is not the same for your family but...Tea is a bonding time for...Mine. I hope you find joy in it."

Mr. Hoar suddenly embraces Wong with one arm, a big friendly hug.

"And I hope you continue to enjoy your time here in New Hope."