I’ve always liked the fire festivals. Who doesn’t? There’s something marvelous about the rites of the seasons, as we march from one time to another. I think as we age, these become even more important. They become reminders that time moves, even as we petrify.

It’s different for humans. Your lives are like mayflies – gone in a blink. You have to savor every moment – every precious present. Not like us. We have to work for it. We have to build reminders in cycles, so we don’t lose ourselves.

It would be easy to get lost without those fire beacons.

“Remember!” they whisper.

And I do. My heart flutters every December as Yule approaches. Before it was just the joy of the Wild Hunt – the thrill of chase and competing with the other Sidhe legends. I took on the primal forces of predators – becoming one with the snow-covered forest. And it was glorious.

But now I think about the first December with Khloe. I still enjoy the hunt. I still revel in it, but it’s taken a different meaning for me. Somewhere along the line, it became a ritual marking our courtship. Every glistening icicle reminded me of jewels and gowns. Every wafting scent reminded me of her hair and skin. The thrill of the hunt became intwined with that electricity between the two of us. The intoxication of cordials and nectars, spinning dances, all wrapped up with the overflowing realization that I needed her.


My feelings exploded when she began recognizing the same – that she needed me. Sure there were moments of pain – frustration and rejection – but that isn’t what I remember. I remember the first flame. I remember her electric eyes and powerful independence. I remember when the kindling caught.

Read more about Laran starting in book 2, Lovers and Rivals here.

#FictionFriday: Memories of Yule
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