•Meadowlark Village, Festival Grounds •
[Ovelia's POV]
We stepped out of the hushed, lantern-lit interior of the restaurant, and the festival hit us like a wave, instantly swallowing us in its vibrant chaos. The music was no longer a distant murmur but a vibrant, rhythmic pulse of music—a lively melody of fiddles, drums, and flutes that seemed to vibrate in the cobblestones and wrapped tightly around us, threaded through with laughter, shouts, and the sizzle and pop of a dozen food stalls. A kaleidoscope of scents washed over us: sizzling meats, the sugary tang of spun candy, sweet candied nuts, pungent spices, frying oil, and the underlying scent of packed, sweating humanity. The crowd was a living, colorful river, a tapestry of townsfolk and visitors flowing between stalls lit by hanging lanterns that cast a warm glow on the sea of smiling faces.
