#odyssey

Saoirse awaits, her own outfit shimmering with Redfin swirls, as well as deep browns and greys and white, in a plaid pattern that somehow evokes a seismic earth feeling.

Janice and family are there, as well as other Kin are present - their garb no less festive and colorful for all that it’s not voile. Even Grog has been brought to the celebration, though Dayana is having to tie a lead on him so he doesn’t go towards the tables of snacks.

A floral garland is on his neck.

The tables are near groaning with food - fritters and candies, breads and fruits, fish of all sorts - stewed, fried, roasted, even raw… slices of roasted pig and fowl, and YES.

YES, there is a CAKE.

It is three layered - the bottom decorated in rainbow swirls - the second in green and while, and the top in pristine vanilla.

"Cake!"

“Cake!” Art echoes with a grin!

CHIME! Chime! Chime! Citrine is nearly in paroxysms of glee.

"Cakes plural" A gasp

It is no masterwork of bakery, the icing is non expert, though colorful.

But it is CAKE, and it is HERE.

And that's fantastic!

Little Louis and Frankie play tag, running through the gathering - A chattering group of ladies are carefully passing Miri-Bri around to coo at her, and everyone is talking. It’s a riot of color and conversation, far less formal than any Silverwolf Fete.

Thistle grins. This is nice.

Thistle and Gwen are both sought out by many - Asking about where they were trained, who taught Thistle to make things like her masterpiece, whether Gladiola would be willing to spar with others, how Thistle got her hair that deep of green, what the patterns on Gladiola’s voile mean… they certainly are not ignored!

Gwen answers honestly, she has no reason to hide that and gives credit to her many mentors. And she mentions her House and her duty as kennel mistress to explain the voile, but praises the talent of the tailor for that

"I've never worn anything like it" She adds

Murphy grins, appreciating the praise. “Me, I just cut de fabric to fit. Creating it is a whole notha thing.” A wink.

"How do you weave th'magic into the fabric? Or is it spun in?"

A round laugh. “We like you, Champion, but not gon’ give up our secrets so easy!”

A laugh "Oh she's going to spend weeks trying to recreate it in her own work now, Mr. Murphy"

"It's the (&&^%(&^&!!!" High praise!

“Weeks? If she can crack in weeks an enchantment that took… hey.” He shakes a finger. “I ain’t tellin’!”

There is no announcement or particular sign, but gradually a hush falls over the crowd as Niamh heads to the shore, taking Art with her.

Gwen gives a 'can't blame me for trying' look, but then shushes as Niamh takes Art to the shore

Soft conversation continues, but hushed so as not to interrupt, and now focused on the Sidhe and Selkie on the shore, the over-due fledge and the young elder.

Thistle watches intently, fingers anxiously knotted together.

They walk out until the water laps around both pairs of ankles, and then Niamh takes Art’s hands in her own.

There is none of the elaborate fanfare that accompanied the Eilunid namer - whatever bunk that Niamh is working, is done quietly, with sand and sea, with soft words that only Art hears, and responds to, a conversation hushed and melted away in the flow of the waves. The magic builds.

Gwen hopes that Arthur IS accepted by her lieges no matter what he is. He's worked so hard

~ pause ~