A girl rode bareback up the mountain on a white pony, a small, old cart hitched behind. Brown hair flew in the wind behind her as the pony raced ahead, and the girl's violet eyes flashed as she ascended towards the peak. It was only just too late as her mount balked beneath her, throwing her off and shattering her cart, along with the meager belongings she had packed within it. She was only able to register that she now didn't even have a seed to her name before falling victim to unconsciousness.
It had been several seasons since Lillian's accident on the mountain, and the whole ordeal had almost completely faded from her memory. Morgan, her pony, still wasn't fond of climbing up to the mountain's summit, but frequent use of horse treats had started to remedy that particular dilemma.
Since she had moved to Bluebell, Lillian had quickly befriended the residents; however, despite the almost painfully obvious hints that both Cam and Ash dropped, she had no interest in either young man.
After meeting Kana and Hiro at the Cooking Festivals she regularly attended, and Dirk on his daily delivery route, she had concluded that they didn't hold much hope either.
As much as she loved Georgia and Laney, they were not much help when they pointed out how "laughably single" she was, and she might as well start buying cats now, as she would need a lot more as she became older. Lillian restrained herself from pointing out that both of her friends were also single though she did mutter something under her breath, with her shoulders slumped and back turned away, about not even liking cats anyway.
A tall, white-blond man wearing a long, brown coat and black, square-rimmed glasses hiked through the familiar mountain path. He appeared to be in his mid- to late-twenties, and all he carried with him was a violin case and a small, battered bag containing some spare clothes and a few foreign oddities. He strolled along at a leisurely pace, admiring the sights and sounds of the mountain as he went- especially the sounds. He hummed along as he walked, trilling over a complex phrase of his own composition.
Yes, this would be a good Music Festival.
Lillian received a wake-up call from Georgia early on the first day of Fall, a small, orange feline held out in front of her. Both cat and girl were thrown bodily out of the room by the very unimpressed farmer, who groaned as she looked at her clock. It was a few minutes before six o'clock in the morning, which meant it was far too late to return to the comfort of her beckoning bed. Sighing, she grabbed her skirt from the heap of crumpled clothes on the floor she had been meaning to wash and tied back her bead head with an orange kerchief. She had cows to milk.