The bonfire's flames curled gold, crimson, and shimmery, snapping and
spitting into the black sky above. Seated around it, the crowd finally
quieted, waiting.
A plainly-garbed girl stood slowly, approached the fire with halting steps. Black hair, usually braided, spilled over gently quaking shoulders, held back by pearl-studded combs. Her face was down-turned and shadowed.
From the darkness beyond the crowd, a soft, piping lament abruptly rose, hung shivering lonely above them all. When its first fragile notes faded back to silence, the melancholy lilt kicked up again, this time joined by Krena's low, whistled harmony, trembling, tragic, and true.
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