Galafrost – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 17.12.2019

---

Sheryl sat on a low, icy stone wall, in the mountain village of the Galavir, wings tucked down at rest, fluffy, fingerless mittens and huge scarf wrapped several times around her. She and the others had been here for three days celebrating the Winter Solstice with so many festivities. This was, in fact, Sheryl’s first winter, ever. She was utterly taken with how beautiful the landscape was here.

In Daring Heights it didn’t snow, it rained. It still got cold, though it was damp. Here it was dryer. The elves said it was because of the elevation – being in the mountains and farther away from the sea meant there was less moisture in the air.

The lake was frozen over. Earlier there were ice hockey matches – she and Mathew had played another bout with some of the elves, against Levion and Gegrun. It was a close call, but in the end the teams were tied. The game was intense, fast paced, and tended to break out in fisticuffs a lot more than actually playing the game but Sheryl really loved it. Maybe it could be something she teaches the people of the Court when she returns?

She brings her knee up and rests her head on it, looking out across the frozen lake as the elves and her friends skated, or attempted to skate, gracefully across it’s frozen surface. Gregrun kept windmilling his arms to get his balance one moment to then attempt to pull himself forward by grabbing the air. She giggles as she watches him, reflecting that she never thought she could love being in the cold as much as she has these past few days. Though she will forever be a Daughter of Summer, Sheryl found she had a growing fondness for the beauty of winter.

Though it is hard to picture her here, I think the Lady would love this, she thinks to herself. She would find it beautiful.

As the sun began to set behind the mountains, fires were lit and people started coming off the ice to gather around them for the final night of celebrations. There were large earthen pots being brought out, filled with spiced liquid that already had been warming over coals in the stone-built homes. Sheryl hopped down from the wall and came over to the one near the village’s centre, gratefully accepting a small clay cup of mulled wine.

As her fingers wrapped around the earthen ware she gets a flash of something – a fleeting memory of being in front of a large fire – Or is it an oven? – sitting on the lap of a man, his baritone voice laughing deep in his chest as the clay fell apart around her tiny hands.

Then it is gone, as if it was never there.

Sheryl takes a sip and sighed contentedly, settling in beside an elven woman carrying a baby, the only one in the village. She leans over and hums a few notes to the little one and he gurgles a smile.

“Tonight is the final night of the Galafrost. The longest night of the year. We gather now in the darkness to return the light. This is the first time we have had guests from outside join us in our festivities,” the elven elder says, opening their arms to gesture to Sheryl and the others. “We shall start this long night with stories. Our people have many, but we always love to hear new ones. Everyone is welcome to speak and tell their tale, made up or otherwise. May each in turn bring us through the dark and to the light.”

There’s a soft murmur among the people then the first elf stands up to tell their tale. Each is unique in their own – a theme of darkness and light woven into each. Sheryl sits enraptured, loving each of the stories told. Then Mathew stands up and tells his tale. Sheryl can tell it is his own. The pain, the raw emotion, the passion is so strong. Her heart aches for him. She wants to go over to him, but he’s lost in his thoughts and she’s not sure if going to him would what he’d want.

More stories, poems, retellings of tales. Each person stands and shares what story is important to them for this night. Time passes, the fire stays burning strong, the warmth from the drink comforting them.

Then it is Sheryl’s turn.

The mother of the child sitting next to her turns towards her. Sheryl looks at her, then down at the babe and smiles, but this time the child doesn’t gurgle. The eyes looking back at her are older than its years. She nods and stands. Picking up her harp – the dichotomy of the celestial strings and infernal body gleaming in the night – she weaves through the elves gathered to come closer to the fire, staring into it.

       Cradling stones hold fire bright
        As crickets call out to the moonlight

Sheryl’s voice is pure and clean, a birdsong carried through the still air. She brings up her harp and strums a soft chord. Turning to look at Mathew and smiling, a twinkle to her eyes as she sings,

        As you lean in to steal a kiss
        I'll never need more than this

Her fingers pluck and strum stronger chords, looking around at those gathered – Mace, still vulnerable from what had happened to him not a week before. She is glad he’s here. On their first day here when they made a snow castle of the grand citadel of Zot Goran together she finally saw his smile touch his eyes. She sings,

        We all share the pain of our histories
        But the ache goes away if you could see

Gesturing to the sky, she sings,

        This night under stars, well, I call it peace
        If you say, I'll never need more than this

As she plays, Sheryl’s wings stir and each step she takes around the fire, sees an imprint of light in her wake. The music weaves around her and all gathered start to see her form shift and change, looking softer, more ethereal, a bit more fey as she continues. It’s a beautiful transformation that heightens and amplifies her song,

        Want so much in this life,
        There's so much to be
        We sail through our youth so impatiently
        Until we see

Sheryl turns to the mother with the child and as she smiles, gesturing to him and then the rest of the Galavir.

        That the years move along
        And soldiers and heroes come home
        And they carry a song

        Don't live in forgotten times
        May this always remind you
        Of the sea under the skies blue looking glass

The harp music builds to a crescendo as she dances and sings,

        Let's make this our story,
        Let's live in the glory
        Time, it fades away,
        Precious as a song
        Cause someday we'll be gone

Softer now, she does singular plucking that reflect the crackling bonfire. Sheryl’s voice is more intimate, but just as clear and easy for all to hear. Her friends and the elves gathered leaned in close.

        Cradling stones hold fire bright
        As we watch the glow of the morning light

She looks up and gestures. There, just on the horizon, the first glimmerings of light can be seen in the sky. Everyone sighs and Sheryl feels her heart swell.

        Someday our bones here they will lie, and so we sing...

        As the years move along and soldiers and heroes come home
        And they carry a song
        Let's make this our story,
        Let's live in the glory
        Time, it fades away,
        Precious as a song
        Cause someday we'll be gone...

As she plays the final bars of the song the sun crests over the mountains, its warm rays touching Sheryl’s glistening brow. The final chord is struck and she closes her eyes, with it a feeling of peace settling into her bones and all those gathered around.

From the dark, into the light.