“In the fullness of time, all the people gathered and offered prayers of gratitude to those who had given them balance.” – Mixcoatl “The days of gratitude.”
It was fall at Tha an Flur Mansa, and the summer flora had given way to fall foliage. The trees were slowly drifting off to sleep; their dryads curled up safely inside the great tree trunks.
Inside the great manse, Rhyslin and his bannaichean were finishing the decorations for the upcoming gratitude festival. There were scented candles along the walls, right above the sprigs of holly placed amid the strands of garland.
The long table centered the room, with eleven chairs gathered around it.
Rana, the young Ciad-Ghin spell-blade, took in the sight. “Why are we doing this again?” She was excited about the upcoming festival but confused about why it was being celebrated.
After sitting down, the old draoidh pulled out one of the chairs and gestured for Rana to join him. “Once each year, during the fall and before the deep winter, …
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