[Log] Igen!
Who: T'rev, Virgil, Umberto (NPC).
What: T'rev makes good on his offer; vacation time!
Where: Bowl, TGW; Mecaith; Igen Hold area.
When: A few days late.
5/1/2008
Southern Bowl, Telgar Weyr(#396RIJ)
Towering above, the bowl wall rises in a curving three-pointed arc as it shelters this southernmost point of Telgar Weyr's great caldera. Sloping down to the north to a slight degree, the floor of the bowl has been channeled so that runoff might drain down to the lake beyond. There are several strategically placed evergreens that serve to baffle the biting mountain winds away from the southern entrance into the Living Caverns. Drifts of snow and the heavy tracks of large dragon feet and bellies cross the expanse of the bowl. Rocks and crags are hung with the purest white. Northward, the center of the bowl spreads hugely, leading to the feeding pens, hatching grounds, weyrling barracks, the Telgar Weyr lake. The ground-level weyrs of the queenriders dot the mountain to the northwest. The murmur of voices and the clatter of pots and chairs drifts from the Living Cavern, where the evening meal is being served. (+view available)
The afternoon is clear, and the sun shines with a few small clouds floating past. A strong wind blows past and the spring air feels a bit nippy.
It's been a few more ays than expected, but today T'rev's out in the Bowl, jacketed for Between and waiting with Mecaith for a certain nanny to come claim her ride to Igen. He's doing a last strap check and whistling while he waits.
A certain nanny arrives promptly, wearing an oversized, worn flight jacket, one of the usual floppy hats and a pair of goggles high up on her forehead. She has a travel pack too, slung over one shoulder, that droops her a little lower on one side. But out she skips like the weight is nothing at all, her head tilted back for Mecaith's height when she approaches bronze and bronzerider. "Hey, friend."
T'rev gives that strap a tug and looks around at Virgil's approach. "Heya. All ready to go get kidnapped by renegades?" he asks her teasingly and grins, then holds a hand out. "Wanna put that pack on the straps?"
"Can't be ready for renegades, remember?" replies she, grinning wryly at him. "I can do it," Virgil adds next, swinging the strap of her pack down off her shoulder and reaching for the section of straps made for luggage. She has to pull herself up a little to do so, which means bracing herself on Mecaith's foreleg. "Excuse me," she murmurs to him.
"You can be ready for the /idea/ of 'em?" T'rev suggests with a loose grin back and waits until she gets her pack up. Mecaith just whuffles calmly, unperturbed. Ommmm. Girl tromping on my leg. Ommmm. "Allrighty then, want a hand up, or you got that too?"
"I got that too," Virgil grunts down at him, and drops her gaze to T'rev. Which, considering her height, must be somewhat thrilling. To be able to look down at someone, goodness. "If you're ready for the idea of them then you're still ready. I'm ready for /dancing/." And, true to her word, she reaches for the next strap up and scales the dragon's side like a pro.
T'rev just grins. "Dancin' sounds good. Whole lot better than scufflin' with a bunch o' renegades." He stays down below until she's up then hops up himself and settles in place. "Okay, straps on, kiddo. Or your Da really will skin me."
(Travel spam poof!)
She's miles ahead of him when he settles in behind her. She gives him a smile and a "Ready!" before Mecaith's taking off and she's quietly giddy while the bronze lifts for the sky and, eventually, Betweens. When they emerge she exhales in a little gasp and shivers dramatically, once. Other than that, though, she's just fine. Leaning forward in her straps, she gawks at the land below them.
Mecaith is a smooth flyer and very careful too. T'rev's the showboat apparently in this pairing, though there's no evidence of it on this trip. He just sits back in the straps to enjoy the ride until it's time to play tour guide over the hold. "There's the Hold over yonder, and that peak's the Weyr," he points out some other salient details of the landscape then sends Mecaith down towards the road.
(More poof!)
Igen River Road
Running along the west side of Igen River on a red sandstone ledge, this road winds north past Igen Hold, and south past Igen's gather grounds. Up above and to the west sits Igen Hold itself, a huge sandstone building. Unlike most Holds, Igen has no fireheights due to its apparent barrenness. Unless Thread is falling, Igen's gates stand open.
Not far away to the southeast are the gather grounds, with the red and gold tarp covering billowing in the breeze. To the east lie the docks, with trading barges and sailboats moored there against the strong currents of the river. To the west looms Igen Hold, emerging from a huge sandstone cliff. Igen's walls shimmer in the heat.
Virgil remains silent during their descent, during T'rev's pointing out of things. She doesn't yelp or squeal when Mecaith angles for landing, or when the rush of air begins around her hair. Luckily she has her hair tied back in a sloppy little ponytail that doesn't quite keep the cloud around her head in check; at least he won't have a faceful of it. When the bronze lands she remains in place, probably to better take everything in.
T'rev unclips his straps and slides down promptly. "Welcome to th'desert," he announces from the ground and doesn't push for her to hop down too. Instead he just moves to get their two bags off the straps and waits, looking out towards the heat-baked cliffs.
He doesn't push; she remains in her perch for a good few minutes after his introduction. Eventually, though, Virgil does unbuckle herself, swing her leg over and begin a quick hop-climb down like a spider monkey to land solidly on the ground near the bronzerider. "Beautiful," Virgil tells him, approvingly.
"Here you go," T'rev passes over her pack and grins. "Yeah in a kinda ... starki way, y'know. Not much growin'. I'm more used to jungles and stuff m'self." He nods a little ways onward towards the River. "Traders're camped down thattaway."
One of her little hands does her work for her, extending, reaching for the pack he's proferring. She grabs it but, distracted by her surroundings, almost drops it. Luckily she pulls her arm just in time; what he says draws her out of her trance. "Amazing!" she announces and, without so much as waiting for his instructions, takes several adventurous steps thattaway.
T'rev just laughs and ambles after. Mecaith lifts off, heading for the Hold's fireheights on near-black wingsails. "Yeah, can't believe there's so little water y'know?" He's already pulling off his jacket, stowing it in his pack and pulling a wide-brimmed hat out to plop on his head. "Gotta be careful in this heat. I got water, so's we don't have t'be buyin' drinks th'whole time."
"Okay," Virgil calls over her shoulder, her arms flopping, her steps unmonitored. She could be walking towards a cliff, she'd never know. Sadly, for now, she misses the hat. Her own hat comes off soon enough, the mass of her hair that was hiding beneath it squished to the curve of her skull. Hathead. Since she paused, he can catch up to her. Not that it's hard. And she'll reach over and loop arms with him, doubletaking, finally, for /his/ hat. Grin. "I brought water too. I'm gonna need someplace to change."
As he catches up, T'rev grins for the hathead, then smiles all the wider for the arm-looping. "Probably be a wagon back or somethin' for that," he replies readily enough. His free hand lifts to tip the brim of the hat all gentlemanly like and he winks at her. "Sun out here's dangerous."
"I brought this ointment one of the healers made for me. I'm still gonna burn, but it's gonna be worth it. I didn't have a hat like that one." Virgil pulls something of a frown, or as close as a frown as she gets, which is really just another of her funny mouth-quirks, but forgets about her lacking quickly enough. "What're their names? These traders? How big is their family?"
"You could borrow mine for a bit if y'like. I'm more tan than you are. I brought it mostly for th'portable shade t'keep from squintin' like an old man alla time." T'rev grins again and makes to lift the hat up and drop it onto her head. "Small caravan, Avani's th'name. 'Bout ten wagons."
"Isn't all that hard to be more tan than me," she points out, seconds before she finds herself hatted yet again. Her head is much smaller than his, the brim of the thing sinks dangerously low before she flings up a hand to correct it. Still, it sits funny. Her grin is bright, her laugh is too. "Haha! Thanks, hey. Ten is small?"
"Yeah, some of the bigger ones have like, thirty wagons. A really small one'd just be like, five or less I guess. There's some traders, it's just a single family, like Mom-Pop and kids. One wagon." T'rev's eyes twinkle merrily as the hat swims around atop Virgil's head but he doesn't laugh outright. Instead as the amble along the riverside, the circle of wagons comes into view along with a short row of stalls with wares displayed for sale.
"One wagon sounds small. Ten wagons don't sound small. /Oh/." Yes, there they are, aren't they. Virgil's arm tightens some within or around his, her grin brighter still. Who knew it was possible? "There they are, T'rev!" She has to lift the hat's brim to see them properly but there they are! She hops once, twice, almost rushing ahead again but staying back because, well, she's trying to be good company here.
"Guess s'all relative," T'rev replies, unfussed and he gives her hand a little pat. "Yep. Right where I left 'em," he jokes and gets tugged forward a little as Virgil does the rush forward and slow down thing. Being a good sport, he slips his arm loose and grabs her hand instead and sets off at an easy jog towards the caravan. There's bright banners and a tented area and someone's playing a pipe softly. The sun's a little high yet for the wilder music.
Soft pipe playing is fine by her; Virgil's enthusiasm doesn't suffer for it, anyway. His modification to their walk has her beaming at him and she matches his pace gladly, though she's skipping instead of jogging. "Oh, I /love/ colors." Only the blind wouldn't know that by now. She halts to stare at the tent. "/A/mazing!"
A man dressed in drapey fabrics and bright colors approaches them, a winning grin on his face. "Welcome, might I interest either of you in a drink? Perhaps a little shopping?" With a gesture towards the stalls. "Most of the holders are taking it easy still at this time of day, but it should get a little livelier shortly," the trader explains with another smile. T'rev tilts his head up to eye the angle of the sun. "Depends on th'lady. Gil, whatcha wanna do?"
Virgil. Is the lady. It takes her maybe two seconds to realize that T'rev's referring to her; she's looking around at everything, at the man, at his clothes, up until it clicks. Then it's another second of staring rather blankly at the bronzerider before she speaks. Beam. "Shopping." Big surprise, right? "I told my dad I'd get him something."
T'rev gives a little bow and winks at the trader. "What th'lady says goes, lead on m'man." The trader couldn't look happier. Paying customers. Lovely. And he leads the way towards the stalls. "For your father you say, ma'am? Perhaps a nice leather belt? Or a new sheath for a knife?"
"No, no. Not something /practical/, he has all that junk. I wanna get him something bright. Something that'll make him happy." Virgil gave up on T'rev's hand a moment ago, now she trails along after the trader with wandering eyes. "Something pretty. But not /girl/ pretty. What's your name, anyway?" She, in all her spunky unabashedness, rushes ahead a few steps to come around to the man's front. Her little hand sticks out. "I'm Gil."
T'rev shoves his hands into his pockets, tagging along after at a slightly slower pace, eyeing the stuff that's laid out in the stalls. His steps slow near the textiles, hand reaching to finger a brightly colored scarf. "Umberto," the trader introduces himself and crosses palms with Gil. "Well met, young lady. And pretty ... for a man. Hmmm." He leads the way to a collection of decorative baubles, bubbles of glass that catch the harsh bright light and reflect rainbows around them.
"Pleasure. Yes. Pretty." She follows obediently, always a skip or two behind. "Something he could wear. Like a scarf or a necklace. Or a ring! He gave me his." To indicate, Virgil thumbs the ribbon out from her collar and lets the bronze circle dangle. "Something /unique/, Umberto. /Unique/."
"Ahh ... wearable," Umberto shifts direction slightly and flips up a cloth on a flat tray of pendants and rings. Most have some sort of semi-precious stones worked in. The workmanship looks decent, but obviously isn't Smithcrafter work. "What's your take on /unique/?" The trader asks with a grin. Back at the other stall, T'rev's haggling with the stall's minder over the scarf he picked up. A few minutes later, price has been settled, marks passed over and he's tucking the scarf away into his bag, then turning to catch up with the other two. "Findin' what y'want, Gil?"
"/Ooh/." The new, unveiled trinkets are oggled thoroughly by Virgil's newly squinted eyes. She wipes at her cheeks beneath them, sweat already dampening her face and running trickles down her back, matting her hair to her temples. But she doesn't notice. Her skin, even, where it's bare, is already starting to look more pink. "Something that says-- desert. Igen. Traders. Being free. Something that'll take him out of Telgar so he doesn't actually have to leave. Mm. Not yet." The last, obviously, is for T'rev. She glances over at him, back at the rings and things. "This one's nice," she claims, reaching for one particular, silver ring with strange markings made in the metal.
"Made by a trader metal-worker," Umberto states with a bright-flashed grin. "You've a good eye." T'rev doesn't say anything, though he's keeping an eye on things generally. "That one's innerestin' too," he points to another, bronze like the one Gil wears, chased through with intertwined strands of gold.
(And we paused, and decided to fade out assuming minor details: they laughed, they danced, they made merry.)
What: T'rev makes good on his offer; vacation time!
Where: Bowl, TGW; Mecaith; Igen Hold area.
When: A few days late.
5/1/2008
Southern Bowl, Telgar Weyr(#396RIJ)
Towering above, the bowl wall rises in a curving three-pointed arc as it shelters this southernmost point of Telgar Weyr's great caldera. Sloping down to the north to a slight degree, the floor of the bowl has been channeled so that runoff might drain down to the lake beyond. There are several strategically placed evergreens that serve to baffle the biting mountain winds away from the southern entrance into the Living Caverns. Drifts of snow and the heavy tracks of large dragon feet and bellies cross the expanse of the bowl. Rocks and crags are hung with the purest white. Northward, the center of the bowl spreads hugely, leading to the feeding pens, hatching grounds, weyrling barracks, the Telgar Weyr lake. The ground-level weyrs of the queenriders dot the mountain to the northwest. The murmur of voices and the clatter of pots and chairs drifts from the Living Cavern, where the evening meal is being served. (+view available)
The afternoon is clear, and the sun shines with a few small clouds floating past. A strong wind blows past and the spring air feels a bit nippy.
It's been a few more ays than expected, but today T'rev's out in the Bowl, jacketed for Between and waiting with Mecaith for a certain nanny to come claim her ride to Igen. He's doing a last strap check and whistling while he waits.
A certain nanny arrives promptly, wearing an oversized, worn flight jacket, one of the usual floppy hats and a pair of goggles high up on her forehead. She has a travel pack too, slung over one shoulder, that droops her a little lower on one side. But out she skips like the weight is nothing at all, her head tilted back for Mecaith's height when she approaches bronze and bronzerider. "Hey, friend."
T'rev gives that strap a tug and looks around at Virgil's approach. "Heya. All ready to go get kidnapped by renegades?" he asks her teasingly and grins, then holds a hand out. "Wanna put that pack on the straps?"
"Can't be ready for renegades, remember?" replies she, grinning wryly at him. "I can do it," Virgil adds next, swinging the strap of her pack down off her shoulder and reaching for the section of straps made for luggage. She has to pull herself up a little to do so, which means bracing herself on Mecaith's foreleg. "Excuse me," she murmurs to him.
"You can be ready for the /idea/ of 'em?" T'rev suggests with a loose grin back and waits until she gets her pack up. Mecaith just whuffles calmly, unperturbed. Ommmm. Girl tromping on my leg. Ommmm. "Allrighty then, want a hand up, or you got that too?"
"I got that too," Virgil grunts down at him, and drops her gaze to T'rev. Which, considering her height, must be somewhat thrilling. To be able to look down at someone, goodness. "If you're ready for the idea of them then you're still ready. I'm ready for /dancing/." And, true to her word, she reaches for the next strap up and scales the dragon's side like a pro.
T'rev just grins. "Dancin' sounds good. Whole lot better than scufflin' with a bunch o' renegades." He stays down below until she's up then hops up himself and settles in place. "Okay, straps on, kiddo. Or your Da really will skin me."
(Travel spam poof!)
She's miles ahead of him when he settles in behind her. She gives him a smile and a "Ready!" before Mecaith's taking off and she's quietly giddy while the bronze lifts for the sky and, eventually, Betweens. When they emerge she exhales in a little gasp and shivers dramatically, once. Other than that, though, she's just fine. Leaning forward in her straps, she gawks at the land below them.
Mecaith is a smooth flyer and very careful too. T'rev's the showboat apparently in this pairing, though there's no evidence of it on this trip. He just sits back in the straps to enjoy the ride until it's time to play tour guide over the hold. "There's the Hold over yonder, and that peak's the Weyr," he points out some other salient details of the landscape then sends Mecaith down towards the road.
(More poof!)
Igen River Road
Running along the west side of Igen River on a red sandstone ledge, this road winds north past Igen Hold, and south past Igen's gather grounds. Up above and to the west sits Igen Hold itself, a huge sandstone building. Unlike most Holds, Igen has no fireheights due to its apparent barrenness. Unless Thread is falling, Igen's gates stand open.
Not far away to the southeast are the gather grounds, with the red and gold tarp covering billowing in the breeze. To the east lie the docks, with trading barges and sailboats moored there against the strong currents of the river. To the west looms Igen Hold, emerging from a huge sandstone cliff. Igen's walls shimmer in the heat.
Virgil remains silent during their descent, during T'rev's pointing out of things. She doesn't yelp or squeal when Mecaith angles for landing, or when the rush of air begins around her hair. Luckily she has her hair tied back in a sloppy little ponytail that doesn't quite keep the cloud around her head in check; at least he won't have a faceful of it. When the bronze lands she remains in place, probably to better take everything in.
T'rev unclips his straps and slides down promptly. "Welcome to th'desert," he announces from the ground and doesn't push for her to hop down too. Instead he just moves to get their two bags off the straps and waits, looking out towards the heat-baked cliffs.
He doesn't push; she remains in her perch for a good few minutes after his introduction. Eventually, though, Virgil does unbuckle herself, swing her leg over and begin a quick hop-climb down like a spider monkey to land solidly on the ground near the bronzerider. "Beautiful," Virgil tells him, approvingly.
"Here you go," T'rev passes over her pack and grins. "Yeah in a kinda ... starki way, y'know. Not much growin'. I'm more used to jungles and stuff m'self." He nods a little ways onward towards the River. "Traders're camped down thattaway."
One of her little hands does her work for her, extending, reaching for the pack he's proferring. She grabs it but, distracted by her surroundings, almost drops it. Luckily she pulls her arm just in time; what he says draws her out of her trance. "Amazing!" she announces and, without so much as waiting for his instructions, takes several adventurous steps thattaway.
T'rev just laughs and ambles after. Mecaith lifts off, heading for the Hold's fireheights on near-black wingsails. "Yeah, can't believe there's so little water y'know?" He's already pulling off his jacket, stowing it in his pack and pulling a wide-brimmed hat out to plop on his head. "Gotta be careful in this heat. I got water, so's we don't have t'be buyin' drinks th'whole time."
"Okay," Virgil calls over her shoulder, her arms flopping, her steps unmonitored. She could be walking towards a cliff, she'd never know. Sadly, for now, she misses the hat. Her own hat comes off soon enough, the mass of her hair that was hiding beneath it squished to the curve of her skull. Hathead. Since she paused, he can catch up to her. Not that it's hard. And she'll reach over and loop arms with him, doubletaking, finally, for /his/ hat. Grin. "I brought water too. I'm gonna need someplace to change."
As he catches up, T'rev grins for the hathead, then smiles all the wider for the arm-looping. "Probably be a wagon back or somethin' for that," he replies readily enough. His free hand lifts to tip the brim of the hat all gentlemanly like and he winks at her. "Sun out here's dangerous."
"I brought this ointment one of the healers made for me. I'm still gonna burn, but it's gonna be worth it. I didn't have a hat like that one." Virgil pulls something of a frown, or as close as a frown as she gets, which is really just another of her funny mouth-quirks, but forgets about her lacking quickly enough. "What're their names? These traders? How big is their family?"
"You could borrow mine for a bit if y'like. I'm more tan than you are. I brought it mostly for th'portable shade t'keep from squintin' like an old man alla time." T'rev grins again and makes to lift the hat up and drop it onto her head. "Small caravan, Avani's th'name. 'Bout ten wagons."
"Isn't all that hard to be more tan than me," she points out, seconds before she finds herself hatted yet again. Her head is much smaller than his, the brim of the thing sinks dangerously low before she flings up a hand to correct it. Still, it sits funny. Her grin is bright, her laugh is too. "Haha! Thanks, hey. Ten is small?"
"Yeah, some of the bigger ones have like, thirty wagons. A really small one'd just be like, five or less I guess. There's some traders, it's just a single family, like Mom-Pop and kids. One wagon." T'rev's eyes twinkle merrily as the hat swims around atop Virgil's head but he doesn't laugh outright. Instead as the amble along the riverside, the circle of wagons comes into view along with a short row of stalls with wares displayed for sale.
"One wagon sounds small. Ten wagons don't sound small. /Oh/." Yes, there they are, aren't they. Virgil's arm tightens some within or around his, her grin brighter still. Who knew it was possible? "There they are, T'rev!" She has to lift the hat's brim to see them properly but there they are! She hops once, twice, almost rushing ahead again but staying back because, well, she's trying to be good company here.
"Guess s'all relative," T'rev replies, unfussed and he gives her hand a little pat. "Yep. Right where I left 'em," he jokes and gets tugged forward a little as Virgil does the rush forward and slow down thing. Being a good sport, he slips his arm loose and grabs her hand instead and sets off at an easy jog towards the caravan. There's bright banners and a tented area and someone's playing a pipe softly. The sun's a little high yet for the wilder music.
Soft pipe playing is fine by her; Virgil's enthusiasm doesn't suffer for it, anyway. His modification to their walk has her beaming at him and she matches his pace gladly, though she's skipping instead of jogging. "Oh, I /love/ colors." Only the blind wouldn't know that by now. She halts to stare at the tent. "/A/mazing!"
A man dressed in drapey fabrics and bright colors approaches them, a winning grin on his face. "Welcome, might I interest either of you in a drink? Perhaps a little shopping?" With a gesture towards the stalls. "Most of the holders are taking it easy still at this time of day, but it should get a little livelier shortly," the trader explains with another smile. T'rev tilts his head up to eye the angle of the sun. "Depends on th'lady. Gil, whatcha wanna do?"
Virgil. Is the lady. It takes her maybe two seconds to realize that T'rev's referring to her; she's looking around at everything, at the man, at his clothes, up until it clicks. Then it's another second of staring rather blankly at the bronzerider before she speaks. Beam. "Shopping." Big surprise, right? "I told my dad I'd get him something."
T'rev gives a little bow and winks at the trader. "What th'lady says goes, lead on m'man." The trader couldn't look happier. Paying customers. Lovely. And he leads the way towards the stalls. "For your father you say, ma'am? Perhaps a nice leather belt? Or a new sheath for a knife?"
"No, no. Not something /practical/, he has all that junk. I wanna get him something bright. Something that'll make him happy." Virgil gave up on T'rev's hand a moment ago, now she trails along after the trader with wandering eyes. "Something pretty. But not /girl/ pretty. What's your name, anyway?" She, in all her spunky unabashedness, rushes ahead a few steps to come around to the man's front. Her little hand sticks out. "I'm Gil."
T'rev shoves his hands into his pockets, tagging along after at a slightly slower pace, eyeing the stuff that's laid out in the stalls. His steps slow near the textiles, hand reaching to finger a brightly colored scarf. "Umberto," the trader introduces himself and crosses palms with Gil. "Well met, young lady. And pretty ... for a man. Hmmm." He leads the way to a collection of decorative baubles, bubbles of glass that catch the harsh bright light and reflect rainbows around them.
"Pleasure. Yes. Pretty." She follows obediently, always a skip or two behind. "Something he could wear. Like a scarf or a necklace. Or a ring! He gave me his." To indicate, Virgil thumbs the ribbon out from her collar and lets the bronze circle dangle. "Something /unique/, Umberto. /Unique/."
"Ahh ... wearable," Umberto shifts direction slightly and flips up a cloth on a flat tray of pendants and rings. Most have some sort of semi-precious stones worked in. The workmanship looks decent, but obviously isn't Smithcrafter work. "What's your take on /unique/?" The trader asks with a grin. Back at the other stall, T'rev's haggling with the stall's minder over the scarf he picked up. A few minutes later, price has been settled, marks passed over and he's tucking the scarf away into his bag, then turning to catch up with the other two. "Findin' what y'want, Gil?"
"/Ooh/." The new, unveiled trinkets are oggled thoroughly by Virgil's newly squinted eyes. She wipes at her cheeks beneath them, sweat already dampening her face and running trickles down her back, matting her hair to her temples. But she doesn't notice. Her skin, even, where it's bare, is already starting to look more pink. "Something that says-- desert. Igen. Traders. Being free. Something that'll take him out of Telgar so he doesn't actually have to leave. Mm. Not yet." The last, obviously, is for T'rev. She glances over at him, back at the rings and things. "This one's nice," she claims, reaching for one particular, silver ring with strange markings made in the metal.
"Made by a trader metal-worker," Umberto states with a bright-flashed grin. "You've a good eye." T'rev doesn't say anything, though he's keeping an eye on things generally. "That one's innerestin' too," he points to another, bronze like the one Gil wears, chased through with intertwined strands of gold.
(And we paused, and decided to fade out assuming minor details: they laughed, they danced, they made merry.)