Of Witches And Wolves

3. "Ran along the ways of mother Rind..."

Being honest again, I don't know why I'm including these little--- notes. Hopefully you'll make something out of them, maybe that I'm mortal or I make mistakes. I'm human, so that's one thing... Being different doesn't mean being alone; it means that you're going to be remembered. But we're not to that point yet, the moment I discovered loneliness, true crushing loneliness. Those wet pages are- later. I'm trying to stay canonical in my retelling. My growth can help yours? Maybe? Anywho... back to the celebration.

I was beside myself with excitement. You could feel it in the crowds and streets. I didn't know what a Snowwrap was then, but I do now. And it may be the single best thing the WildWood has given Mindas- besides Yggdra of course. I'd continued on my way down to the festival grounds, happily detached from my fears and anxieties, slowly pushing through the snow drifts and weaving around celebrating crowds that would gather here and there. Each collective singing and toasting to each other in every language I'd never heard.

It was wonderful. The smile I'd been wearing made my cheeks hurt, which was funny in its own way. I remember three or four kids running past me laughing. One of them, the largest of the gaggle, nearly knocked me off my feet as he dove behind one of the large tree roots that arch up before diving back down into the ground. The next thing I'd felt was a very cold, very sharp, and a much-unexpected face full of snow.

"Sorry ma'am!" Another boy shouted at me from across the road.

I'd shook my head free of the snow and tried to process the cold slap. "Hey!"

I watched the little kid that dove in front of me run behind another large root. Ducking and dodging as he sprinted. He packed snow in between his hands back and forth like an artist.

"Hold this," the young boy said to me as he ran back, smiling from pointed ear to pointed ear.

He'd handed me a freshly packed snowball as he rolled another around in his hand.

"Thanks!" He shouted as he tore it from my hands and charged screaming towards the other kids.

"Hey! That one was mine!" I'd said to the little elf teenager.

I'd chased after them, picking up snow as I followed. It only took a few minutes until I was now taking part in my first ever snowball fight. I must have thrown enough errant snowballs to start a war and wound up involving a quarter of the district in the Great Snowfight of Elderbranch Street.

Eventually, weary, cold, and out of breath, I'd waved them off as I made my way towards the festival circles. By then I'd worked up quite an appetite.

I'd reached the district square as the sun had begun to set. The music had switched from bouncing festive tones full of celebration and whimsy- and on to something that felt a bit more somber. The atmosphere changed as well. Children slowed down and gathered around barely lit fires. Actors draped and dressed head to toe in costumes began to weave tales of magical warriors and creatures that stood higher than three men with giant horns.

Needless to say my attention was snagged at that moment. I'd seen them, you'll see them.

The actors were leaping and dancing around the children, barking and grunting, stomping and snorting. Serpents with scales of rock and iron, winged beasts with heads of livestock filled the stories. The actor stomped and snarled again, he was covered in untrimmed pelts and was walking on stilts. Him and the others wore ceremonial masks that glowed in the darkness with a bright white and orange. I watched as another of the actors crouched over and waved his hand in the air as a blast of blue light rose from his fingers. He drew elaborate images in the air that slowly faded with the smoke.

My first thoughts were simple, since when was magic something so trivial it could be used for children's stories? Only now do I realize that it wasn't trivial, it was healing. There are hundreds of children from broken homes united by stories around a campfire, deep wounds being sewn shut painlessly.