Festival

The coins clinked as they dropped into Estaria’s palm, warm from his father’s pocket. His fingers curled around them instinctively, feeling their familiar weight.

“Now, that’s all you get,” Burl said, his weathered face stern. “So make sure you—”

“Come on!” Angel’s hand wrapped around Estaria’s wrist, tugging him away. The scent of her soap—lavender and something sweet—wafted past as she pulled him into motion.

“Alright, father!” Estaria called over his shoulder, already half-running to keep up with Angel’s excited pace. The festival spread before them in a riot of color and sound, wooden stalls decorated with bright ribbons and autumn leaves stretching down both sides of Appledale’s main street.

“Did you see the candy maker’s stall?” Angel asked, her auburn curls bouncing as she wove between festival-goers. “He’s got those honey drops you like.”

The street bustled with villagers in their festival best. Children darted between adult legs, their own coins clutched tight. Music drifted from somewhere ahead—probably Old Man Weber with his fiddle. Estaria’s stomach growled at the mingled aromas of roasted nuts, fresh bread, and spiced cider.

“Let’s look at everything first,” Estaria suggested, falling into step beside Angel. His coins jingled in his pocket as they walked. “See what all’s here before we spend anything.”

They made their first circuit slowly, taking in each stall. The toymaker had carved wooden animals this year—Estaria particularly liked a small dragon with articulated wings. The weaver displayed bright scarves that Angel ran her fingers over longingly. A traveling merchant had set up a display of glass beads that caught the autumn sunlight, throwing rainbow patterns across the packed dirt street.

“Oh!” Angel grabbed his sleeve, pointing. “Look at those meat pies!”

Steam rose from the baker’s display, carrying the rich scent of gravy and spices. Estaria’s mouth watered. “Two coppers each,” he noted, mentally calculating. “We could split one.”

“And still have enough for treats after,” Angel agreed, reading his mind as she often did. Her hazel eyes sparkled. “But let’s see everything else first.”

They continued their exploration, shoulders bumping occasionally as they walked. The crowd pressed close around the fortune teller’s tent, where Madame Rose was doing her yearly readings. Past that, children clustered around a puppet show, their laughter rising above the general din.

“Remember last year?” Angel asked as they passed the game stalls. “When you tried to knock down those bottles and hit the stallkeeper instead?”

“That was not my fault,” Estaria protested, feeling his cheeks warm. “The ball slipped.”

“Right into his forehead!” Angel’s laugh rang out, clear and bright. She squeezed his arm. “Come on, let’s go back to the pie stall. I’m starving.”

The baker split a fresh pie between them, the crust flaking perfectly as he cut it. They found a quiet spot near the edge of the festival, settling on a low stone wall to eat. The pie was still hot enough to burn Estaria’s tongue, but he couldn’t wait, savoring the rich taste of meat and vegetables.

“This is better than last year’s,” Angel declared, licking gravy from her fingers. A smudge of it dotted her chin.

“You’ve got something—” Estaria gestured, and she wiped it away with her sleeve.

“Now,” she said, hopping down from the wall, “what should we get for dessert? We’ve each got eight coppers left.”

Estaria joined her, brushing crumbs from his shirt. “Honey drops?”

“And maybe share one of those caramel apples?” She was already moving, threading through the crowd with practiced ease.

“Perfect,” Estaria agreed, following in her wake. The festival swirled around them—bright and loud and wonderful. These were always his favorite days, when the whole village came together to celebrate the harvest, and he got to spend the afternoon with his best friend, making careful decisions about sweets and sharing their spoils.

The candy maker’s stall had a shorter line now, most people having already made their purchases. Angel stepped up to the counter, coins ready. “Two bags of honey drops, please. The small ones.”

Estaria added his coins to hers, watching as the merchant measured out their treats. The golden candies caught the light like tiny suns as they dropped into paper bags. Angel handed him his share, and they both immediately popped a piece into their mouths.

“Worth every copper,” Angel sighed happily as the honey-sweet flavor spread across her tongue. “Now, where was that caramel apple stand?”

The sweet taste of honey drops still lingered on Estaria’s tongue as they rounded the corner past Baker Morton’s shop. A flash of movement caught his attention - Thomas and Sarah Carpenter waved frantically from across the street, their festival clothes already wrinkled from running around.

“Estaria! Angel!” Sarah called out, her blonde braids swinging as she bounced on her toes. “We’re getting a group together for tag! Want to join?”

Angel’s eyes lit up, and she turned to Estaria with a grin. “What do you think? We could save the caramel apple for after?”

Estaria nodded, carefully folding the top of his honey drops bag and tucking it into his pocket. The autumn air carried the sweet scent of fallen leaves, perfect weather for running games. “Let’s do it.”

They crossed the street to join their friends. Marcus Fletcher and the Miller twins were there too, making seven players total. The usual argument about who would be “it” first broke out until Thomas suggested they draw straws.

“Shortest straw’s it,” he declared, breaking dry grass stems into different lengths. Estaria drew his straw and held it up. Groans from several kids filled the evening air.

“Estaria always knows where everyone is hiding,” Thomas complained as Sarah helped him up.

“That’s why I always want him on my team,” Angel said with a grin.

Estaria smiled but kept quiet about how differently he sensed Angel compared to the others—where they felt like distant echoes at the edges of his awareness, she resonated more deeply, a presence he could follow anywhere in the field. He’d never told anyone about this odd sense, not even Angel herself.

“Count to twenty!” Marcus called as they scattered, his feet already pounding against the packed earth. They ran toward the open field behind the smithy, where tall grass swayed in patches between worn paths.

“One! Two! Three! … Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty! Ready or not, here I come!”

Estaria turned, opening his eyes to the empty field. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the trampled grass, and a cool breeze carried the distant sounds of the festival. He sensed them all - five distinct presences scattered across the field, but Angel’s pull was strongest, drawing him toward Old Weber’s wood pile like a compass finding north.

He started left instead, following the fainter trace of Marcus. The boy had wedged himself between two barrels behind the smithy, his breathing quick and excited. Estaria rounded the corner.

“Found you!”

Marcus jumped, nearly knocking over a barrel. “Already? But how—”

Estaria was already moving, tracking Sarah’s presence near the apple trees. Her giggles gave her away even before he spotted her green festival dress through the branches.

“Come down, Sarah!”

She scrambled down, leaves stuck in her braids. “That was so fast!”

The Miller twins had split up - smart, but not enough. He found June crouched behind a hay bale, then Mary trying to hide in plain sight by standing still against the fence. Their matching looks of surprise made him smile.

Finally, he turned toward Angel’s familiar presence. She’d moved since the game started, trying to throw him off, but he followed the sense of her. He found her pressed against the back of the cooper’s shop, her face flushed from running.

“How do you always do that?” she asked, brushing dirt from her skirt. “Five minutes, and you found everyone!”

The others gathered around, their complaints overlapping.

“It’s not fair!”

“He must be peeking when he counts!”

“No one’s that good at seeking!”

Angel crossed her arms. “Maybe he’s just better at it than you.”

Estaria shrugged, uncomfortable with their attention. The truth - that each person echoed to him in their own way - would sound too strange to explain. Besides, he wasn’t sure himself why he could do it.

“Someone else can be seeker this time,” he offered, and the group quickly moved on to arguing about who would count next. The game swirled around for an hour, covering three orchards and a wheat field.

Finally, Sarah flopped down in the grass, declaring herself too tired to run another step. The others gradually joined her, forming a loose circle in the cooling evening air.

“That was fun,” one of the Miller twins said, picking burrs off his socks. “Better than last year when we played by the creek and Mary fell in.”

They all laughed at the memory. Estaria sat back on his elbows, feeling pleasantly worn out. His pocket crinkled, reminding him of the saved candy.

“Oh!” Angel sat up suddenly. “We never got our caramel apple!”

“The festival’s still going,” Thomas pointed out. “Probably for another hour at least.”

Estaria stood, offering Angel his hand. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. Grass fell from their clothes in a small shower.

“Anyone else want to come?” she asked the group, but they were already engaged in a debate about whether to start a game of hide and seek.

Together, they headed back toward the festival lights, which glowed warmer in the deepening dusk. The sounds of music and laughter drifted across the cooling air. Angel hummed along with a snippet of fiddle music, her steps light despite their afternoon of running.

“That was fun,” she said, brushing the last bits of grass from her skirt. “Though I think I’ve got seeds in my shoes.”

“Me too,” Estaria agreed, feeling them shift against his feet with each step. “But worth it.”

They reached the edge of the festival, where lanterns now cast pools of golden light across the stalls. The caramel apple vendor was still open, the sweet smell of cooking sugar drawing them in.

Estaria watched as the vendor dipped two ripe apples into the bubbling caramel, the sweet smell making his mouth water. Beside him, Angel bounced on her toes, her remaining coins clutched tightly in her hand.

“These are the last of my festival money,” she said, passing over the copper pieces. “But I’ve been thinking about those ribbons all day.”

The caramel apples cooled quickly in the autumn air. Estaria bit into his, the crisp apple and sweet coating creating the perfect combination. They walked toward the weaver’s stall, where the ribbons Angel had admired earlier still hung in colorful rows.

“Which ones do you like best?” he asked between bites, watching as she studied the display.

“The blue ones,” she said, reaching out to touch a pair of sky-colored ribbons. “They remind me of summer mornings.”

The weaver helped her make the purchase, and Angel immediately began working the ribbons into her auburn curls. Her fingers moved deftly, creating two neat bows that caught the lantern light.

“How do they look?” she asked, turning her head side to side.

“Perfect,” Estaria said, meaning it. The blue really did suit her.

They made their way through the festival one last time, savoring their apples and the evening’s atmosphere. The crowd had thinned somewhat, but music still filled the air, and the lanterns cast everything in a warm glow.

As they passed the game stalls, Angel’s steps slowed. Estaria followed her gaze to a display of prizes at one of the ring toss stations. Among the usual wooden toys and candy bags sat a cloth doll with yarn hair and a dress made from scraps of blue calico.

Angel’s expression shifted - just slightly - but Estaria caught the way her eyes lingered on the doll before she looked away. He felt the weight of his last copper in his pocket. The ring toss cost one copper for three tries, and he’d seen others playing earlier. Most had walked away empty-handed.

“Do you want to try for it?” he asked, pulling out his coin.

“Oh, no,” Angel said quickly, though her eyes darted back to the doll. “It’s probably too hard anyway. And I’ve already spent all my money on the ribbons.”

Estaria stepped up to the stall. “Three rings, please.”

The stallkeeper handed him three wooden rings, worn smooth from use. The target pegs seemed to mock him from their precise positions - not too far, but just far enough to make a perfect throw necessary.

He weighed the first ring in his hand, trying to judge the best way to throw it. Angel stood close beside him, still working on the last of her caramel apple. The first toss went wide, clattering against the back board.

“That was close,” Angel said encouragingly, though they both knew it hadn’t been.

Estaria took more time with the second ring, focusing on the nearest peg. This throw was better, but the ring bounced off the top of the peg and fell to the ground. His heart sank as he gripped the last ring. One more chance.

He thought about the way Angel had looked at the doll, that tiny flash of longing in her eyes. The same look she’d had last spring when she’d found a nest of blue jay eggs, or when she showed him the first apple blossoms in her family’s orchard.

Taking a deep breath, Estaria let the final ring fly. It spun through the air, wobbling slightly - and landed perfectly around the center peg with a satisfying clank.

“You did it!” Angel clapped, her half-eaten apple forgotten in her hand.

“Which prize would you like?” the stallkeeper asked, though Estaria suspected he already knew.

“The doll, please,” Estaria said, pointing. When the stallkeeper handed it to him, he immediately passed it to Angel.

“Oh, but - it’s your prize,” she protested, though her fingers were already reaching for the doll’s soft dress.

“I won it for you,” he said simply.

Angel hugged the doll close, a bright smile spreading across her face. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’ll call her Summer, because of the blue dress. Like my ribbons.”

Estaria watched Angel cradle the doll, and a strange flutter stirred in his stomach. He pressed a hand against his middle, frowning slightly. The sensation wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it was unfamiliar – like tiny wings brushing against his insides.

“Are you alright?” Angel asked, noticing his gesture. The doll nestled in the crook of her arm, its blue calico dress catching the lantern light.

“Fine,” he said quickly, dropping his hand. “Just… maybe too many sweets?” He thought about the honey drops and caramel apple, but neither had upset his stomach before.

The flutter intensified when Angel stepped closer, adjusting Summer’s yarn hair with careful fingers. Her own ribbons caught the golden light of the festival lanterns, making the blue seem deeper against her auburn curls. Something about the way she smiled down at the doll made the strange feeling worse – or better? He couldn’t quite tell.

“We should probably head back,” Angel said, looking up at the darkening sky. “Mother will want help with the evening chores.”

Estaria watched Angel disappear into the crowd, Summer the doll tucked safely in her arms. The festival lights cast long shadows now as dusk settled over Appledale. He patted his pocket, feeling the remaining honey drops, and set off to find his parents.

Their voices carried over the general din of the festival, leading him toward the edge where most of the business discussions took place. He spotted them standing with the Folners near Morton’s empty pie stall. His father’s broad shoulders were set in that particular way they got when he was trying to be reasonable.

“It’s a fair offer, James,” Burl said, his tone measured and calm. “You keep your home, your dignity, and a steady income. The farm stays working, which benefits everyone.”

Mr. Folner’s weather-beaten face had gone red above his graying beard. His wife Martha stood beside him, her thin hands clasped tightly together. Estaria slowed his approach, not wanting to interrupt.

“Fair?” Mr. Folner’s voice cracked. “You call buying up my family’s legacy fair? Three generations of Folners have worked that land!”

“And you’ll still be working it,” Burl replied. “The only difference is you won’t have to worry about seed costs, or replacing that broken plow, or whether you can afford to hire help for the harvest.”

Estaria understood his father’s logic. The Folner farm had been struggling for years. Last winter, he’d seen their children wearing clothes that were more patch than original fabric. Their youngest daughter had started coming to school with no lunch at all until the teacher began sharing her own.

“We’re managing just fine,” Mr. Folner insisted, though his darned jacket and hollow cheeks told a different story.

Klindon stepped forward, her voice smooth as honey. “No one’s suggesting otherwise, James. But think of your children. Working for us means guaranteed meals, proper clothes, maybe even apprenticeships when they’re older.”

Estaria recognized his mother’s persuasive tone—the same one she used when convincing him to take on extra chores or study longer with the village teacher.

Mr. Folner’s face darkened further. “So now you’re saying I can’t provide for my own kids?” He took a step toward Klindon, but his wife’s hand on his arm held him back.

“That’s not what anyone’s saying,” Burl cut in. “We’re offering partnership, not charity.”

“Partnership?” Mr. Folner spat the word like it was poison. “You mean becoming your servants on our own land!” He turned sharply, nearly knocking over an empty barrel in his haste to leave. “Come on, Martha.”

Mrs. Folner lingered, her tired eyes meeting Klindon’s. “I apologize for my husband’s… outburst.” She smoothed her worn skirt with trembling hands. “He’s proud, you understand. The farm means everything to him.”

“Of course,” Klindon said softly. “The offer stands, should you wish to discuss it further.”

Mrs. Folner nodded once, then hurried after her husband, her steps quick and light despite her obvious exhaustion.

Estaria moved closer to his parents as the Folners disappeared into the evening crowd. “That seemed to go poorly,” he observed.

“Pride,” Burl sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it blinds people to sense.”

“They’ll come around,” Klindon said, adjusting her shawl against the cooling air. “When winter bites deeper and their stores run low.” She turned her attention to Estaria. “Did you enjoy the festival, dear?”

“Yes,” he said, thinking of Angel’s smile when he’d won her the doll. “It was a good day.”