[b]Lake Chartreuse[/b]

[i]The paved asphalt road ends at the crest of the last small hill of the village before it reaches the lake itself; Ambrose parks there and has to walk down a cobblestone lane to reach the dock area itself. The path branches and a handful of other buildings stand along the lake's edge in relation to the dock- such as the fishery itself- but for the most part the lakeside is an unimpeded sightline and source of beauty for the entirety of the village.

As he approaches, he sees many of the village's adults joyously- or, at least, enthusiastically- at work. Lanterns of various sizes and shapes are being made, some in a traditional fashion and others just bouts of random inspiration or creativity. The significance of these papercraft lanterns, and the origins of the festival itself, have been thoroughly lost in time to the myriad myths and stories of the modern day; the most commonly shared myth on the subject is one that claims that the stars in the sky would twinkle out and die if the lanterns were not lit on the night of the Festival.

At the dock, he witnesses the hustle and bustle of Freyja Hoar's benign antics. The ceremonial raft was almost completely decorated by now, and it seems that a short break was in order.[/i]

[quote=@psych0pomp]
“Alright! Who needs a big strong man to help them move things?” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m not big at all, nearly single-digit body fat.” The joke was only funny to him. It was a humble brag if anyone ever heard it. This is probably the reason why there was a certain citizen of New Hope that disliked him. And as far as Ambrose was concerned—it was just Weasel. Everyone else loved him.
[/quote]

His words and appearance draw attention but, in a standard fashion for the bespectacled girl, it is Freyja Hoar who takes charge of any offered grunt labor. She whirls upon the dock and hoists the young Stig to her shoulders. The toddler plays with her hair in his ever-quiet manner, and she doesn't seem to mind him pulling her braids loose one bit; her white hair tumbles into a lightly tangled wave over her shoulders as her brother does this.

She places two fingers to her lips and whistles at Ambrose, lifting her other hand to wave at him to get his attention. A two-pronged attack on his senses to ensure she successfully grabbed his attention.

"Alright, mister Single-Digits," She teases good-naturedly, calling out to him from the dock. "Since you're so strong, come give us a hand with the raft."

She was an athletically inclined girl herself, no slouch when it came to physical things, and was particularly renowned for the speed with which she ran- and while her stamina was the limitlessness of youth, it was clear to Ambrose when he looks in this direction that the elders she was working with were all tired and more or less trying to save face by keeping up with Freyja's work speed.

"All you've got to do is lift the central beam into place and hold it steady; I'll secure it into position. Then we can begin decorating the mast and we'll [i]finally[/i] be done. Think you can handle that?"

[hr]

[b]The Weeping Sam[/b]
[@Jumbus]
[i]She raises the camera. Her caution is rewarded; the deer does not immediately notice her still.

She snaps the photo-[/i]

[b]The instant her finger presses down upon the activator, the deer's head snaps up. It stares at her, framed in the foliage of the leaves and broken boughs. In the instant of darkness of the camera-blink, Rowan experiences an odd sensation. The breeze kicks up and tickles the back of her head with its movement. Within that impossible instant of blackness of the camera readout or shutter click, a strange image burns itself into her mind.

The deer, but not as she saw it. It was larger, the doe's body longer and more broad, the dappled coat on its body deeper and thick- almost in the manner of a boar- but with deep glowing veins visible along the ridge of its spine. Its fore shoulders were far more broad and the glowing veins seemed to coalesce about them like spider's webbing, framing the broad neck and thin head in an almost eerie glow. A strange, wide, orifice rested into the dimples of those broad shoulders, almost like recessed hunches with leather-like lids that moved with some extra-muscular implication. Perhaps, most unsettling of all, was the deep blackness of the eyes.[/b]

[i]But in the same eye-blink instant the image burned into her mind, it faded. For a moment, their eyes meet and nothing happens. The deer merely stares at her. Then, as if answering some unheard signal, the doe bolts; she leaps over a nearby shrub and in a blur disappears into the gloom outside the clearing.[/i]