"Sunburned sicklemen of Pacem early, come hither from the furrow and be merry. Make holiday, your rye-straw hats put on; and these fresh nymphs encounter every one on country footing~" A band of minstrels plucked away at their stringed instruments, singing dulcet tones as they stood on the back of their wagons. Merriment and laughter was in the air, with folk dancing and singing. Everyone was in celebration, as the final harvests were being brought in and the herders brought their fattened flocks to the towns and villages. With the disaster of the cursed specters from Harena put to rest, there was no better timing to add to the festivities. The once barren desert was coming to life again, and there had been many who had offered their help to the people there to begin their new lives. Though the Highlanders were the kind to keep to themselves, they too could show acts of generosity and goodwill. 

The crisp Venti air was a nice change of pace from the blistering aridity of the outpost months back. Delanac had assisted in delivering supplies from his kin from the steppes to help set the camp up, and had been staying there until the danger was over. He'd asked the other clans there to keep mum about his whereabouts, knowing his father's bad temper. Even though he wasn't able to set foot back in Yovaesh without his old man chasing him out with a hammered iron, he didn't want to give him more grief. Carric was stubborn and bull-headed, but he had a reason for it. Naturally his father wasn't going to get over his refusal of continuing the family business in a year. 

He'd been here several times before, though rarely for more than a week in one place. The Highlanders were suspicious of him at first, as most people were–but if you proved yourself and earned their respect they'd be willing to turn a blind eye to trivial things like race. His past work as a blacksmith made carrying bushels and moving wagons easy, and he even offered to fix up some of the farmers' worn out tools. But what he'd been waiting for was the harvest festival. Once all the bales of grain and fruit of the fields were brought in, a feast was prepared by the whole community. It was a public event, where everyone brought their best to celebrate yet another bountiful harvest. Things were busy as he helped the wives and cooks with cleaning, preparing, and cooking delicious regional dishes. There was always work to be done, and the smell of savory roasts and sweet seasonal delicacies were everywhere. 

A heavy pant escaped the Draconian's lips as she pushed herself forward, having hiked a long distance away from the sand ocean and over to the fading green as the season shifted. While Jesgil was sure to make herself properly dressed and accounted for, the trials she went through wore her out, leaving her maid's outfit in shambles and her hair showing most of its silver, only the tips shining in the crimson she worked hard to show. With each and every step came the piked sound of the butt of her axe slamming into the gravel road, giving her a spot to lean on as she pushed forward more.

The Venti air was certainly much comfort for her. While many were quick to bundle up, she felt at home with the cold thanks to her blood. After all, it was the season of ice, and she held a bit of mastery with the element… Not that she can really show it. As Nofre-Ari stated before, she had to take a period of time to let her body recuperate from the exhaustion she suffered from and re-balancing herself out. After all, when she was pushing her limits, she began to change… the scabs covering her arms were a clear sign of it.

Still, it did not stop her senses from picking up on the minor details… the echoes of singing… the numerous lights in the distance… the rich smells that tingled in the air… It was signs of life… While she had to not work, it did not stop her from pushing herself forward to some extra company.

"Down boy! No poking your nose into the pies Bran!" He pulled a tail-wagging jackal away from the mincemeat and latticed-pies. The dog was ecstatic with all the new sights and smells, no wonder he was all over the place. "Here here, settle down." Delanac took a roasted drumstick and get the jackal have at it. "Well I can't blame ye boy, I'd be jumpin' out of my boots if this was the first time I saw a feast like this!" After days of hard work it was nice to finally unwind. Keeping Bran from taking a bite out of everything kept him plenty busy, and he had to keep him away from things that'd be bad for his health. 

"I guess I'm to blame for your tasting habits. Suppose that's my comeuppance for lettin' you have a bite out of anything I make myself. Don't eat so fast and enjoy it a little! Proper hog you are." He teased the dog, scratching it behind its ears. Pulling out a small leather-bound book and a quill he began to jot down a few of the dishes he had seen in his time here. "Baked apple blossoms, stewed lamb, shepherd's pie, barley malt…Bah, at this rate I'll never finish writin' everything down. There's too many to choose!" The music began to pick up and a few of the locals began to join hands to dance. Patting Bran's head, Delanac clapped in rhythm to the music as the men began to sing a lively tune. Men and women broke off from the circle into pairs and they turned back and forth tapping their heels against the packed earth. Bran barked a few times and had his tongue out, the bone from the eaten chicken leg at his feet. 

"Ah this really takes me back, it does. Almost like the ones we had back home. Pity you and I won't be seein' them for a while. Pa would run us out the moment he'd hear us anchoring at the harbor." Taking a swig from some warm cider, he leaned back and watched the dance.