It was the start of the spring festival, which took place on the night of the full moon following the wild roses bloom. Everyone in the town was excited and busy preparing for the annual occasion. Markets closed early, and stalls were put up specifically for the festival, selling yummy food and specially brewed drinks. It was only the last year that there was the first proper play in our town, some romantic comedy, but this year everyone was already expecting and looking forward to the play as if this was something that was ‘a part of the tradition.’ I heard the Baron was footing the bill for the play as well.

I strolled through the main festival street, holding the hand of one of my sisters. I said street, but it was just a wide muddy passage defined by carts and stalls placed side by side, stretching a long line between two clearings. My brothers went ahead and came back with sweets and snacks, and with the sisters, they were spoiling me real good. Folks walked up and down gingerly, chatting happily. Some already red-faced from drinking at this early hour of the evening. Kids, as they do, waded through the crowd, running, splashing muds as their tiny feet skipped on the ground.

The fresh spring breeze carried the smokes and the irresistible smell of grilled meat mixed with the sweet aroma of spiced honey meads and bitter ales. And of course, the sweet scent of the spring roses. At the end of the festive road was a large round clearing; in the middle of it, dads and uncles of the town were busy piling up woods for the bonfire. The lighting of the bonfire would mark the first night of the festival, followed by lots of drinking and dancing and laughter.

On the other side of the clearing, if things were to be done as they had always been done before, a long table would be set up overlooking the bonfire and the clearing. The town’s elders would be seated there with the Baron and the Baroness. The Baron would personally wish all the best and good health for the elders and share the table, talking about the good old times and also the promising future. The elders would nod, their eyes twinkling gratefully. They would, in return, bestow their blessing on the Baron’s endeavors, to which the nobleman would smile and humbly nod, occasionally thanking the kind words.

To the side, my father would be engaged in a friendly competition with the Baron’s cook. Every year they would bring out their kitchen and prepare their best dishes for the folks at the Baron’s expenses. The two men would intensely watch the fire, stirring pots and sprinkling salts on meat, their faces red from the heat and also a large quantity of honey meads. They would occasionally walk over to the other and discuss seasoning or brainstorm a new recipe before hastily retreating to their respective pots and grills.

And when the evening had sufficiently progressed and the folks gathered around the bonfire in anticipation, the festival would begin for real. The eldest of the elders would wave his hand, and the bonfire would be lit. Fiddles and flutes would start, and the folks would go round and round the fire, hands in hands, skipping. And the maidens would bring out smoked hams that had weathered the cold, dry winter air. They would, one by one, present the stock to the most senior elder woman at the table who would do the inspection with hawk-like eyes. Once satisfied, she would bless the larder with nods, and would, from time to time, point out particular seasoning or flavor applied to the hams to the Baroness, who, in return, would listen with great interest with curious eyes.

And I missed all of these. I had walked into the clearing with a fairly good mood, but this particular day the sight of joyfulness and the festive atmosphere suddenly reminded me of the town festival I had gone to every year during my previous life. I missed my friends. I missed my family.

My brothers and sisters asked me what was wrong, and I said nothing was wrong. That was a lie. I felt painfully guilty for having a sudden yearning for my family back in my previous life while walking into the festival, holding the hands of my wonderful brothers and sisters who loved me to bits. I was not the kind of person who could easily replace the love for the old family with a new one. Nor did I love my new family any less just because I missed mom and pop from my previous life. I felt miserable. I felt as if I was tainting their good-natured spirits with my meaningless sorrow. So I made up some lame excuse and removed myself from the scene. I found a conveniently placed sack of grains in the shadow. I sat myself down, arms around the knees, watching the townsfolk dancing and laughing and enjoying themselves. I saw mother talking to father, and they laughed and kissed, and there was a playfulness in father’s eyes. I fell asleep weeping.

I woke up to the warm feeling of pressing against a soft yet full bosom that had a slight hint of sweet rose’s scent. I quickly opened my eyes and found myself in the lap of the Baroness. Seeing I had woken up, Her Ladyship squeezed my cheeks and hugged me tightly but did not say anything. The Baron, who was sitting next to his wife, didn’t say anything either. He just gave me a big grin and ruffled up my head.

Three days after the festival, a horse carriage arrived in front of our tavern and asked for me. The Baron wished to see me at his manor.