Wapun Meadow stars, they come and go

In preparation, he had feasted the night before--well, feasted might not be the right word for gulping down a few rabbits he had managed to snare alone. And he had slept the day away, rising with the setting sun, stretching his muscles and bones weighed down from slumber. He was ready.

Nyx was here.

As far as winter solstices went, this one was fairly inauspicious. Fengari was no more than a silver sliver in the sky, the asteria dimmed by wispy clouds overhead, laden with snow. It was cold, and breezy, the wind biting at his ankles with an enemy's ferocity. Still, he was ready.

Phocion stood in the midst of this meadow of dead and dying wildflowers, a thin crust of snow atop the ground that must be so verdant in the spring, and tipped his head back, letting loose a call to the heavens. Fengari, o, Fengari! he sang out, voice plaintive. Show your face and light our way, for it is Nyx, the longest night of the year!

Nyx was a time to celebrate, to spend time with friends and family and revel in Fengari's glory. It was the longest night. But Phocion, here in this land he once had known fairly well but now barely knew at all, was alone, and hollow, and had no one to sing to the moon with.

Nyx was here. Where was everyone else?