Lachlan & Reagan | Early evening
Canwyn’s Turning had always been Lachlan’s favourite. He knew he should hold the same amount of reverence for all the Gods and their days. But it didn’t feel like pure luck that had seen the day of his birth fall on such a significant day on the Aurellian calendar, and it was as if Canwyn himself had bestowed Lachlan’s Gift upon him. Heuris’ day had been much the same as the rest when Lachlan was a child. After his mother’s passing, it had become more poignant. After his father’s, after Evelyn’s, it took on a shape with edges too sharp to touch. So he hadn’t looked forward to this Turning as he had the last, but did not shy away from it when the day dawned. Easy or not, the day was important, and he would give it the respect that was deserved.
His family’s cairns were tended to as was only right on a day meant to remember the dead. It had been seven years since he had last done so for his mother, and it was the first (long overdue) time he had been there for his father and sister since their passings. He wondered at just who or what they would come back as in their next lives, they had been good people and he was certain they were bound for good things. He just had to pray their next lives would be much longer and better than their last, they deserved as much
Thoughts of everyone he had lost over the years, through fault of his own and not, weighed on Lachlan heavily. He didn’t retreat to his room after leaving the graveyard though, and instead moved on to the Town Circle along with many other residents of the village. Rather than finding that the ceremony weighed on him further, some of the burden was lifted by it. Not all from the religious aspect but in part too from the indignation he felt at the whole thing being conducted in Clovennian. What was the point, to provide a show? With the exception of young children, the people who were there to worship had not been born to the foreign language. So what benefit was there? They were there to mark the changing of the seasons, Canwyn’s time giving way to Heuris’, yet their Danu chose instead to pander to gawking tourists so they could understand.
The pyre was ringed by people. Families, friends, foes. The crowd was weighted more toward were the Danu had delivered his sermon, and Lachlan had avoided the area as much because of the man conducting the proceedings as he did for the press of bodies. Though the day was not even close to the hottest Heuris Turning that Lachlan could remember, it was by no means cool even after the sun went down. And after the fire was lit, wearing a shirt felt like madness. Lachlan cast his aside, hanging it in the branch of a tree where he could retrieve it later that night or on the following day. And it was not long after doing so that a flash of green caught his notice. The colour itself was not so unusual. Being one of Heuris’ sacred colours meant that many other villagers wore similar hues. But none wore a dress quite like Reagan’s.
From the look of her retreat from the pyre, Reagan had just concluded a more private commitment to the flames than the public spectacle of those in the more congested areas. “There you are,” he remarked as he came up alongside her, and made a show of scanning the sea of faces rather than looking directly at her. “Your mother has been looking for you everywhere, I should let her know you’ve been found before they send out the search party.” Lachlan actually had no idea whether Coraline Shrike was searching for Reagan or not. He had seen the woman earlier and made a point of turning on his heel and walking the other way when he saw she was unaccompanied by her daughter. Pleasant enough though she was in small doses, Lachlan was in no mood for the litany of questions Coraline would no doubt send his way if she snared him in conversation. Reagan was another matter though, and he never tired of their conversations whether they were teasing, serious or otherwise.