By the time Thæon, Morak and I’dl descended from the steep of Arenthíen’s shrine, the night had drawn in; the sky a beautiful star-scape while Cryon shone glittering gold beneath the fire light of paper lanterns and braziers and the forge furnaces forever burning far below.
They made their way to the inn that the others had disappeared into; the building impossibly louder and livelier than when they had left it; Thæon unconsciously holding his breath as he pushed past the red curtains and into a wall of heat.
Thæon heard Eidan before he saw them; singing high and mighty as they strummed on their tanglowin– one of their prized instruments of which they often brought around the evening’s campfire to while away the growing twilight with songs and tunes; doing so now for the applause and merriment of the room.
Torra was sat cross-legged at the table beside them, swaying back and forth to the music and joining in now and then to harmonise the catchy chorus, echoed back at them by other drinkers and merry-makers. People danced in the cleared space before them; Ríenn, centre stage, dancing lightly on pointed toes, wooden foot tapping along with the beat as she pulled a young debonair into the flurry of simple moves that flared her skirt and set her silver hair shining beneath the lantern light while the room sang and shouted and clapped along with their tankards.
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