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"I'm going to be late..." muttered the ghostly figure to herself. Firefoot urged on her likewise ghostly horse (whose name, oddly enough, was also Firefoot) a little faster as the Barrow-downs finally came into sight. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that others were still arriving as well. I must not be too late, then.
There was little that could be called friendly about the place, with jagged stones lining the walk and a chill wind blowing over the numerous barrows, yet Firefoot found herself looking forward to this party very much indeed, all the more so after having unfortunately missed the previous year's party.
Upon reaching His Wightness's barrow, she dismounted, bidding the horse to wander about as he wished. She entered the barrow, drawing back a dark green cloak, borrowed specifically for the occasion, to reveal a nice pair of jeans and a lighter green T-shirt (but no foot covering). She walked over to the table and set down her gift, an odd thing whose purpose she did not know. It was black and green in color, though, and interesting enough to look at in its own mysterious way. It seemed appropriate.
She then pinned on her nametag, which had scrawled on it simply "Firefoot."
Until this point she had paid little attention to the others who had gathered, but now she finally did. There were plenty whom she could talk to, but for the moment contented herself to take a seat on one of the plump chairs and enjoy the limerick contest. Sure enough, she soon found herself grinning at the entertainment.
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