Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Cortège, Chapter 3 - Eloise

The Festival of The Strawberry Moon was an annual celebration in the town of Highwater. It was a time when seasonal berries in the outlying loamy fields ripened to their sweetest and provided an abundant harvest. Legends told of cherubic pixies in mushroom caps and foxglove shoes that sewed nectar into Highwater's floodplains. It was for that reason Highwater berries were unmatched in flavor.

The town square was painted in red and light green, strung with glowing lanterns, and draped in carnival tents. Costumed minstrels sang with fiddle, pipe, and harp. Men, women, and children laughed and danced. Mead was in abundance, every goblet garnished with a deep scarlet strawberry.

Eloise was sixteen. It was the first celebration in all of Iron Fen she had experienced that felt authentic and fun. The events in Port Shorishal were often suffocatingly formal, or worse, a sickening display of power disparity.

She attended The Festival of The Strawberry Moon on the heels of her misadventure in Green Marsh. She had squired for Elite Knight Sir Tristane as he assisted The Archmage Cirrus Alindal and his apprentices. As a result of great misfortune, Tristane perished in conflict with the necromancer Caona. Eloise and Oran Highwater had to defeat the undead fiend on their own.

Eloise mourned the loss of Tristane. He was grumpy and strict, but he had trained her in sword and shield when hardly any other soul in the kingdom would speak with her. The Archmage suggested she stay in Highwater for several days to rest up and regain her strength before he would escort her back to Port Shorishal. She was happy to do so; she had made a friend in Oran Highwater, united by their ordeal. She stayed in Oran's mother's house. She slept in Oran's old bed. Oran's mother even gifted her a lovely gown to wear to the festival. It was red and gold with green ribbons. She couldn't remember ever being treated so nicely.

Though the streets were filled with merriment, under the light of flickering flame and the full moon, Eloise did not initially feel like partaking. She had attended more than one festivity where the moment she danced or expressed joy, she was treated as though she committed a grave sin. Instead, she positioned herself near the large fountain in the square. It was attractive, ornamented with carved river otters and fish.

Oran was in line at a stall, waiting to be served mead from a large barrel. The Archmage was entertaining a circle of admirers. His apprentice, Horus, sat beside him, already drunk and hanging on his every word. There was desperation in his eyes, the sort that made her immediately understand. Horus wanted love and approval from the most important man in his life. She could relate. But that was as far as her understanding of Horus Morningshire would take her.

He was unkind to her, but not for the same reasons as the nobles in Port Shorishal, not because she was unimportant, a foreigner, or different. Horus seemed to perceive her as a threat. Eloise couldn't decide if his contempt was specific to her or to all women. Perhaps it was both.

Oran returned shortly carrying two goblets of mead. He was bashful as he smiled at her.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "There's a long line. It seems people don't know how to dance without a belly full of mead."

He handed her a glass and she thanked him. She adjusted the way she held the stem to mimic him. She had been told before that she held a goblet as though it were a weapon.

"What shall we toast to?" he asked.

"Oh." Her lips were already on the rim to drink. She lowered her mead again and cleared her throat. "Should we not toast to the ripening of strawberries? Isn't that what this festival is about?"

"I suppose we could, but that goes without saying. It's more customary to toast to new beginnings or things you feel thankful for." He looked into her eyes. "For instance, I feel thankful to have met you and for our new friendship."