[ It does take her a moment, to conjure the image and quite find the trick as he had, to keep the image whole, in her mind, and then project it to him. Focusing completely to do it (and privately, make sure, that more did not come through, and frighten him).
A great and long feasting splashes out, every inch of it decorated. People of all kinds are crowded around from her current view, which is looking down from slightly raised at the back. Looking onto the middle of the two long tables, where a group of actors are staging their play. But each of them is more fantastical than the last. They are involved in some kind of chase, where the skeletal creature robed in flowers chases the woman through the rows of dancers time their movements to seem like trees whipped about in a storm, lashing ribbons right and left to swirl in the 'wind'. In the woman's hands is a skull that she uses as a light to guide her way, and the old woman laughs when it seems like she actually, legitimately, is floating and flying. Some of it is almost like the town they all lived in now, but other parts of it are far, far older, centuries and centuries before anything like the village had now. Only candles and fireplaces to light the space, the crowd dressed in clearly something more like the beginning of the middle ages than anything current, even if there are some of the same choices in clothing styles and ornaments.
It's a moment, just one, where the scene of the play unfolds, no more than she can hold beyond that. Then like having to give up on holding a deep breathe, she releases it and lets it fade from their connection. ]
They are the Mummers, they stay with us in winter to tell stories to entertain us over the long dark nights.
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A great and long feasting splashes out, every inch of it decorated. People of all kinds are crowded around from her current view, which is looking down from slightly raised at the back. Looking onto the middle of the two long tables, where a group of actors are staging their play. But each of them is more fantastical than the last. They are involved in some kind of chase, where the skeletal creature robed in flowers chases the woman through the rows of dancers time their movements to seem like trees whipped about in a storm, lashing ribbons right and left to swirl in the 'wind'. In the woman's hands is a skull that she uses as a light to guide her way, and the old woman laughs when it seems like she actually, legitimately, is floating and flying. Some of it is almost like the town they all lived in now, but other parts of it are far, far older, centuries and centuries before anything like the village had now. Only candles and fireplaces to light the space, the crowd dressed in clearly something more like the beginning of the middle ages than anything current, even if there are some of the same choices in clothing styles and ornaments.
It's a moment, just one, where the scene of the play unfolds, no more than she can hold beyond that. Then like having to give up on holding a deep breathe, she releases it and lets it fade from their connection. ]
They are the Mummers, they stay with us in winter to tell stories to entertain us over the long dark nights.