Six years ago the White Rose Treaty was signed, halting the Abyssal War that had raged for decades. The treaty should have put an end to the strife between Elves and Humans.
It didn't.
Nura Wolfire is trying to find happiness and contentment after...
Nura lowers the book as Rephas enters the bedroom, smoothing his hands over a forest green tunic, the collar embroidered with gold leaflets.
She quirks a brow. "Well, don't you look nice? Do you have a date with the wildlife?"
"You're not ready yet?"
Nura sits up, abandoning her book as she narrows her gaze at him. "Ready for what?"
"The Harvest Ceremony."
"The Harvest..." Nura gapes at him, her fingers curling in the blankets. "I thought you said we weren't going because it's not safe."
"It's not safe," he murmurs, his gaze on his cuffs as he adjusts them. "But seeing you smile the other day made me remember what's important."
Nura slips from the bed to stand before Rephas. She looks up at him, a full head taller than her, but she's never once felt intimidated or threatened by him. "Thank you."
He shakes his head, lifting his hands to trail them down her arms. "Don't thank me. I shouldn't have kept you from going in the first place. I know it's your favourite celebration."
"Thank you for putting aside your better judgement," she replies with a sheepish smile, aware of how protective he can be and understanding it completely. They've both lost too much to even think about risking what they have but sometimes... sometimes it's okay to let go of their fear. "But maybe clean your beard up a bit."
He wrinkles his nose and rubs his beard. "I quite like my facial hair."
"Well, you're starting to blend in with the animals you surround yourself with. Just a little trim."
He huffs out a laugh. "Alright," he relents.
Nura gives his cheek a chaste kiss before hurrying to get ready. She throws on a chestnut brown dress, tying a gold ribbon around her waist to match Rephas. She twists her long hair into a braid then pins it into a loose bun. She huffs out a breath as she rushes into the kitchen, Rephas watching with amusement as he stands over the basin with a pair of scissors and a mirror.
"You do have an hour or so, love."
"If I don't make a loaf of hazelnut bread then Calla will never let me live it down," Nura replies, clattering in the kitchen to hastily prepare the food. "And that woman holds a grudge like no other."
Her stomach begins to bubble with excitement and she can't seem to wipe the smile from her face. The Harvest Ceremony happens at the end of Sulunary, or the end of the Equinox to the Elves. It's a celebration for the end of the crop yield, the last festival before the long Snowfall sets in. And in Cirallian when the cold comes, ceremonies in open fields will lead to nothing but misery and sickness.
But Nura has always tried her best to celebrate such a thing. She rarely got to look forward to much in the war, but she cherished the small things that she could. She would have been driven mad with uncertainty and terror if she hadn't.
Some days Nura forgets that the war is over. For nineteen years of her life it had lasted. For nineteen years she knew nothing but the walls of the Hold and the blood of the soldiers.
She still cherishes the little things six years later.
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