And it feels like me on a good day [seasonal event]

a m a l i a Deepfrost is a loathed season; the dark and cold offer nothing to the girl, who dreams of sunlight and fire and song. Going out requires a level of effort greatly displeasing to the simple girl, who given an option would always choose to stay in an area of comfort, be it the Atheneum or her shop. Yet traditions must be upheld, ancient ways respected: and so Amalia ventures out at the earliest crack of dawn, her expression stubborn, sleep still heavy in her eyes. She wields a lantern like a shield and wraps herself in furs and scarves, hilariously over-armored against the winter chill but determined not to suffer any undue cold. It is some time since Amalia last ventured to the Oasis, but as the girl trudges through waning banks of snow the warm pleasure of familiarity thaws some of her displeasure, easing her mind. As the glittering ice comes into view the girl lets out a happy sigh. She cannot deny that this is one of her favorite places, even in the dreaded cold - especially in the winter, when it retains some semblance of the warmer months, unsullied by all but a light dusting of snow. Glow stones cast a warm illumination, even in the lingering dark. It is a perfect place to look for luxere, and it is for this reason Amalia has come, despite her aversion to the chill. Finding a relatively dry patch of earth beneath a tree, the girl hangs her lantern and drops her bag, kneeling down to rummage through and find the treats within. There is little, alas: her stores are woefully empty this winter, and she has only a few handful of oats to spare. She will have to rely on her voice this year, on song and supplication to coax the gentle giants of light. Rolling back onto her heels, the girl settles into a seated position, oats placed carefully in a nearby bowl. There are luxere nearby, Amalia knows this: she has seen their tracks, careful cloven hoofprints in the snow-kissed earth, tufts of their fur on wayward trees. Closing her eyes, the girl sighs, finding peace in the quiet of a late dawn. "O Rae, who governs nature," she softly prays, "Please smile on me today. Send your children to grace my home, that I may be protected on this Long Night." Her prayer finished, the girl sings, alto voice lilting in the cold. "For flowers that bloom about our feet, "For tender grass so fresh and sweet, "For song of bird and hum of bee, "For all things fair we hear and see, "Rae and the Old Ones, we thank thee, "Rae and the Old Ones, we thank thee." Jigano