Gaspard & Ciara (and Emlyn??) | Just After Noon | Town Circle
Spring - Canwyn, he corrected himself in the safety of his own mind, - Turning was the biggest Aurellian celebration of the year, or so it seemed, based on the high spirits of his Aurellian colleagues. Even the ones who tended to drag their feet were more animated than usual, and before the sun had reached its zenith, they had already emptied from Belmont Manor. Gaspard had only struggled briefly with the idea of joining them - his curiosity had been too strong, and he didn't think he would be missed between meals.
'Joining them' was a kind exaggeration. Gaspard had only watched them, determined their general direction, before setting out on his own. In the weeks since he had arrived in Glynn, he had made more friends in the village than he had in Belmont Manor. A great part of it was his own fault - he still couldn't quite trust anyone he worked with, at least not so much that he could be open to them. He had said things to Robor Howell or even Miss Ciara that he wouldn't ever dared to bring up in the manor. It was a deplorable way to do things, but Gaspard told himself that all things took time, and a step forwards was better than no step at all.
As he walked down the path into the village, however, his doubts and hesitation were washed away by awe. It was rapid and buoyant, a bubble of emotion that seemed to expand and to lift him up. When Gaspard had imagined Aurelle, this was what he always pictured in his mind. Flowers everywhere, woven together in so many different ways, decorating every inch of the village. The houses were small and rustic compared to the perfect angles of Belailles, and there were people in the streets dancing and singing and laughing, eating and drinking, open and enthusiastic.
A peal of bells interrupted Gaspard's moment of wonder, just in time for him to step out of the way of a small, wheeled cart bearing teas of all kinds and little cakes. The woman manning the cart said something to him in garbled Clovennian - because of course she would think him Clovennian, with his drab clothing, - to which he replied in Aurellian, telling her he spoke Aurellian.
She stared blankly at him for a second, then burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter. Before she trundled on, she plucked three yellow lilies from her long hair and tucked them into the chest pocket of his light coat.
Despite the brief encounter, Gaspard didn't feel any more inclined to join in. He wanted to, of course, and he skulked along the Town Circle, feeling every bit the sneaky rat Ciara probably thought he was, but it seemed so very wrong for him to be there as anything but an observer. Just being there made him feel like a pretender, a sheep wearing the skin of a wolf, or a wolf wearing the wool of a sheep.
He watched people dance past him, studiously looking away when anyone seemed likely to look his way, so that he had an excuse not to get dragged in. In fact, he was so absorbed in his little routine that he started quite badly when a voice rang out next to him.