The Darkest of Days

Over and over, fingers worked to fold pieces of twine into concentric circles winding, around a shimmering bead placed in the center of the coil.  Scaalia and his siblings were busy winding the little sun charms that were traditionally crafted by their clan during this time of year.  This year supplies were short and so the charms they crafted were small but no less complex.  Their size was another reminder that the year had been tough and would only get tougher. 

Soon the snows would come in earnest to blanket the Lostwood.  With luck, the hanging of charms and the ritual prayers would remind the Sun of just how much the denizens missed her presence above the wood.  Hopefully after a time their devotions would warm her heart and she would brave the cold once again and emerge from the great cave that she had hidden herself in to melt the snows and warm the land once again.  It would take time, some years it took longer than others but those of the Lostwood knew that nothing with lasting power came quickly.

With this in mind they prepared for the festival on the darkest of days, when all the families of their clan would gather to celebrate.  It would be a day full of feasting and raucous celebration.  There would be a feast to honor the Sun when it was at its brightest to show their appreciation for the day light.  Following that the stories of their ancestors would be told, epic poems of how their clan had come to be.  As the sun set a great bonfire would be set alight to carry on the light of the sun and ward off the dark.  All around it they would dance and with the sound of their drums and voices they would call to the Sun to return to them, return life to the land, and end the harsh cold of winter.  The spirit of the celebration was most important; not the size of the fire, or the roar of the drums, but the love, and the joy of those who danced and sang.  As such the darkest of days was not so dark, and the light would only grow brighter as the year passed on.