As it usually was this time of the year, the air was sharp with the sting of the cold. There was little snow here underneath the deep boughs of the old Sanctuary, but the nighttime air still had it's bite. This mattered little to the lithe figure, bound as it was beneath layers of skin and animal furs.
After some time, he would glance upwards towards the trees. Towards what was beyond them. He could not see the stars, but he knew of their placement in the sky above, and as he had done for millennia, he waited in silence. He prayed to himself, in silence.
He stood this way for an hour or so, taking in the quiet of the night. In particular, Vanidor enjoyed the way the lanterns illuminated the small space. The bluish grey-green of the faerie lights were comforting after the long year. The way the light caught against the old stone made him consider the previous year. As well as the countless ones before.
Had it been a mistake to pay such little heed to the world that surrounded the Wood? Would it behoove him to poke his neck back out into the Province that bore the name of his sanctuary? Truly, it had been a mistake to get so involved in the past. It had not been his duty to do so. But at times, he missed that. The thoughts of the past brought a sigh to his lips once again.
This was a thing he reflected upon, standing there amidst the quiet chill, until it was time to prepare himself for the ritual. Shoulders rolled upwards as arms came from underneath the heavy wraps. Gloves were removed, and so then was the cloak. He folded both before setting them down upon the cold ground. Next came that ancient weapon of his, slender blade and bejeweled hilt. This too was placed upon the earth. He took a breath, stretching his fingers, then sighed. There was a time, once, when he would have had help here.
But, that was in another age. Another time. And so, he would start at the neck. Quickly he undid the laces enough to tug the garment up over his head. The thinner one he wore under the first shirt went with it. Both saw a quick fold and placement. Boots next, then socks. Finally he hooked his thumbs into the sides of his breeks and tugged them down. A shiver rolled through his body, and a sharp exhale of breath followed that. Gods above, the air seemed chiller this year.
In any case. He folded this as well, then set the pants inside the cloak. Hopefully that would maintain some heat. Another shiver, and then he stretched his whole body upwards to the sky. He knew the moment was close.
Then, outwards into the circle of stones that had stood for centuries. They had been there before his kind had found this place. Before he had been born. Surely, they would be there long after he had departed, whenever he decided to move beyond. Still. Another breath drawn in. Deep and welling, such that his chest puffed slightly with the action. Then a slow, steady exhale...
One foot slid forward through the frozen grass, the next raising to flow ahead. Softly his voice rang out into the quiet, breaking it for the first time in several hours. The tone was soft at first, slowly rising as his steps became faster. Faster. Vanidor stepped through the motions of his ritual. A prayer for the season that was and wish for the one that was to come.
Slide. Step.
Twirl. Slide
Step.
As he had done for years, the elf Danced for Myrken and the Wood. For the people. For himself.