Kaphiri worked dutifully in preparation and whether to honor their far-away matriarch or because they saw him getting ready, the regents seemed to understand what time of year it was. They sent out messengers to spread the word, and he doubled his efforts in readying for the festivities. He wished Epona could've been here to guide him through his first Samhain, but he hoped she'd be proud of what he accomplished if she were here, of the Cleric he had become under her keen guidance.

He couldn't have managed without his dearest wife; they gathered dandelions, he'd let several different kinds of fruits ferment with honey they'd managed to gather from an abandoned hive, he had painstakingly blessed every inch of this land in the last month and rose altars -- both blank slates for those who wished to honor their own dead, and some for The Morrigan.
He had even bribed a racoon into braiding a circlet of flowers and vines for Amrei to don tonight. It would wilt and die and fall apart before long, but for at least one glorious night, she could feel like a queen wrapped in a coat from her husband with a crown upon her brow. He'd sling whatever pelt she didn't choose over his own shoulders, and he'd decorated his own pelt in an assortment of feathers he'd found for the occasion.

After Fiadh's speech with the setting sun and before everyone began to disperse, Kaphiri lifted his voice hastily to the gathered crowd:


He wondered if the Goldencourtes could see them, wherever they'd been taken to. They weren't dead, but he'd scatter dandelions in their honor tonight too.