In the memory, Liem’s response to the girl’s request had been the same as it is now; he shakes his head, resisting the faint tug she’s giving his hands with a wry smile.

“I’ll leave the revelling to you and the others. My presence here is all ceremonial regardless.”

“I know it’s not past your bedtime, old man,” she scoffs. “One more dance. Come on!”

She pulls him insistently into the circle of dancers, and Liem goes with an apologetic look at Emet-Selch. For all his objections, he circles the bonfire with adroit steps implying, if not intimate familiarity, then at least good coordination and a quick learning curve. His priest’s robes whirl around him as he goes through the motions, passing from the girl’s hands to those of other dancers in the circle, until finally he takes advantage of a lull in the dance to escape back to the edges of the firelight.

“You must have seen many scenes like this by now,” Liem comments to Emet-Selch as he catches his breath. He adjusts the lie of the robes over his shoulders and the hang of the key against his chest. “What made you volunteer your skills for the festival?”