Chapter Text
Pact sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the Hunting Stone, which sat patiently in front of her, as she weaved branches of evergreen between its spokes. All around her, in neat little piles, were ribbons, pine cones, poinsettias, and other such festoonery.
Sikare happened to walk by and stopped, watching curiously for a moment.
“I might regret asking this, but what are you doing? What is all this?”
“You can't tell? I'm decorating Hunting Stone for the holidays. The festival of Langstenacht is coming up, y'know.”
Sikare sat down next to Pact.
“Aren't you worried about all these adornments flying off as soon as Hunting Stone gets excited?”
“Of course not!” Pact began tying ribbons on the evergreen branches, making elaborate bows as she tightly affixed the branches to the wheel. “I made it very clear that it's supposed to be careful with its decorations.”
Sikare took a deep red round ornament and carefully attached it to one of the branches.
“If it's all right with you, I'll give you a hand.”
Pact turned to Sikare, puzzled.
“Since when do you like this kind of thing?”
Pact thought it over, and never remembered Sikare getting very much into any of the True Order's holiday traditions, particularly not Langstenacht, with its loud singing, bright lights, gifts, and raucous three straight nights of revelry. She'd usually do the bare minimum and retire to her room, where (Pact guessed) she'd isolate herself to read or stare into the middle distance, thinking complicated thoughts all alone. It always made Pact a little depressed, thinking about Sikare locking herself away like that when everyone else – even Telamont – was out celebrating the blessings of the Truth, which lit up the night in the darkest part of the year. But she knew better than to try and make her come out and have fun. Sikare doesn't work that way.
“I don't particularly like it, no. But...”
“But?”
“I don't mind spending some quiet time with you, even on something absurd like this.”
“In that case, pass me those bells.”
The idea of the Hunting Stone festively jingling as it caromed about the Manor of Truth was enough to make Sikare want to lock herself in the Starry Crypt and sleep until the new year, but she went ahead and gave them to Pact anyway, wondering which one of them was more ridiculous, the woman affixing happy little jingle bells to her curse, or the woman assisting her.