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The storm doesn't seem to bother Cytheria as much. "I don't know him personally; he doesn't socialize with his people. The only time he approaches us is during the Winter Feast, which is tomorrow." She raises a hand to her cheek. "When I said I was looking forward to it, my Uncle slapped me," she recalls, brows furrowing a bit. "But as far as I can tell, most of the laws of the land are very reasonable."

"Every year, after the first snow fall, there is a grand feast held by lord Shayden. Everyone is invited to attend and eat, though the young, eligible women have to attend," Cytheria explained. "Apparently this is tradition because it has been happening for a very long time." She shrugged her shoulders. "Last year I was sick with a very bad cold so I couldn't attend. I think my Uncle is just being superstitious and paranoid."

"I'm not sure what a Homecoming is, unless you are talking about returning home. I also don't know what football is. But there is dancing as well, at the Winter Feast. The Lord often dances with the young women, so I will almost certainly see him when I go." Cytheria smiles. "I wasn't bothered by what you said. We are obviously from very different places; I think it's natural to ask questions. The people in my current town think I ask too many questions. I'm afraid I don't fit in very well." She sighs softly. She doesn't mean to cause trouble for her Uncle, but they often butt heads, so to speak.

"At the Winter Feast, the Bride of the Land is chosen. A week later there is a ceremony. After that, the young woman is never seen again...not even a body," Cytheria says. "At least, that is what I've heard. Everyone believes something horrible must happen to these women. I'm not sure. I don't understand how a leader could make such good, fair laws and be a murderer." She shrugs her shoulders. "I didn't have any particular plans to leave; I just didn't like fawning over the men the way a lot of other young women did. They all seem very preoccupied with getting married." Shaking her head, she leans against the back of the counter.

Cytheria laughs softly. "Well, I'm not too young, no. Usually people in my homeland, where I was born, would already be married at this age. Fifteen or sixteen is usual. Strangely enough, in this land, we have to wait until we're nineteen, unless we get special permission from Lord Shayden himself," the slightly older girl explains patiently. Then she shakes her head. "Technically he isn't being married to the women. It's more a ritual than anything else. I would assume if he was actually meaning to get married, there would eventually be children, since that's the usual way of things. It's supposed to coax the land into giving us a good harvest and good weather in the coming year." She frowns. "I don't believe in such things, but I'm still curious. As for whether I'll be picked, I have no idea. I don't know what basis he uses to decide."

"You wouldn't necessarily be married; there's a lot of factors that go into when someone gets married. But that's the age we start," Cytheria says. "How old are you?" She wasn't sure if the girl meant she was fourteen or fifteen since the range she gave was fifteen to sixteen. Gently she puts a hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "We're used to it where I am from, so it's not that distressing. Although I personally don't want to be married. The men in my new town are very smug," she adds with distaste. Tilting her head to the side, she inquires, "What is this George Ackers like?"