As the evening faded into night, Aodh found himself kneeling high upon a clifftop. Around him, the winter kissed woods glistened in harsh moonlight. Winterlights danced around him, going on their blinking insectoid business. Below, nestled in the curve of a valley, a village was celebrating. Tonight, the shortest night of the year, they would reaffirm the strength of the veil that kept their world separate from those beyond. Aodh smiled. It was an old tradition, and he doubted many in the town below still believed in half of what they were doing. Belief or no, the ritual was enough to strengthen the veil and keep the village safe. Only those of real strength would be able to pass between worlds after this night. Tonight, though. Tonight the veil was at its thinnest. Dreams would come to those below with unusual clarity when they slept, guiding them with messages about the forthcoming year. And then, with the rising sun, the magics of the night before would take hold and the veil would be at its strongest. Aodh leaned forward, resting his forearm on a knee. His other knee was pressed into the fallen leaves of the clifftop. Long silver hair was pulled back in a braid that kept it out of the way. Otherwise, he was in simple black clothes, suited more to travel than to station. In the moonlight, he glowed like the frost on the trees. No mortal looking would see him, though, at least not as anything more than a perceived figment of the imagination. So he took his time, watching the lights dance below and contemplating whether he would go join in the festivities. It would be easy enough to don mortal form, to traipse about and celebrate with the reckless abandon that came with short, mortal lives. It was tempting, but it never went well. And so he remained on the clifftop.