Little Iselle watched in awe as the Father of Winter led the Daughter of Spring on her gaily be-ribboned horse. She squealed in glee when it was time to throw her little balls of wool at him, chasing Winter away. Wonder filled her as the Daughter’s avatar struck the first flame of Spring.
Someday, she would stand in the place of the Daughter. The responsibility boggled her: to be the voice of the goddess accepting the Temple gifts. And the horse was so very pretty with her mane so carefully braided.
She watched carefully, hoping to learn her part well.