Feast of Flowering, Mage

The shrine was finally beginning to take shape - the doll becoming obviously equine, the broken sticks bundled as best as they could be. Nigel had offered to find other sticks, new hay to replace what had been trampled, but the older camel - who frankly refused to give his name, much to Nigel's bafflement - shook his head violently and sputtered odd sayings and definite though unrecognized swears. "Do you not have any respect for the history and tradition? Any at all? These "sticks" are not just sticks, but twigs broken on the new moon from a bush on a hill near the home where my grandparent's grandparents were born. Using the sticks here wouldn't mean near as much!"

Nigel stared at the surprisingly-mushroom-free old man with shock and confusion. He had grown up in the desert, to a family who had apparently fled there from the main parts of the kingdom, taking nothing of their past but heartache and a desire to be free. There were no long-time traditions, or even things he would think of "new" traditions. They ate when they ate, farmed when they farmed, celebrated when they celebrated. There was no rhyme nor reason, no claim that any ancestors mattered more or less than they did. They had no ties to the past, and so they were free. Rootless, but free. "I didn't know sticks were meant to mean anything," he replied simply, voice going flat in an attempt to not accidentally offend him even more. "I've neither used nor seen a shrine in my life."

The older camel sighed, closing his eyes. "Then just know, the 'sticks'... to me, they matter. Let that be enough." They continued to gather together in silence, not entirely comfortable and not entirely welcome, the air thick with an awkward tension that felt sticky and not in a the-desert-is-hot kind of way. The shrine was finished, the twine and twined and sticks all sticked, and the elder camel turned to leave.

Nigel paused, hesitated, reached, and paused again. "Would you...." He stopped, unsuddenly uncertain whether he had any right to continue. "I would like... to learn more of your shrine. Why is everyone coming here, now? The changing seasons? The... oh, I don't know. But there's so many people, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Are you... willing to help?" His head pulled back, ears flat to his neck, as he realized all he'd said and kind of forced on the wrinkly camel. "Only if you're free, only if you want to."

The old one was quiet so long that Nigel thought about apologizing again, and again, but was briefly distracted by the antics of the hares playing with his tail. After several more moments of silence, the other camel finally spoke. "I suppose if you're going my way..." And so, with much hesitation, the old camel found someone willing to listen to his prattle, and Nigel found someone willing to teach him a little bit more about the world he lived in, though he found he remembered significantly less than what was said. Less than everything was still more than nothing, though, and Nigel was grateful, even if he was still quite confused.