"Is this a new dance?" she asked. Astrid knew all of the traditional and formal dances, of course, and several of the more common peasant ones. She liked the patterns, preferring to watch them in play than join herself.
The man smiled at her, his half-mask allowing her to see that much. The fun of masks, from Astrid’s point of view, was that it was traditional to at least pretend not to recognise the wearer. Particularly when she happened to be royalty. Really, it was quite obvious. Her figure was tall and proud, her gown was peasant-style for the occasion but royal quality in material and make. Her mask was a work of art, and quite a relief to wear despite its weight over her face.
"No, miss. The opposite in fact. An old one dug out for a bit of a challenge." Indeed, people were having a wonderful time it seemed, despite the fact that no one person seemed to remember all of the steps. There was plenty of tripping and suddenly reversed turns and arms tugging other dancers: no, this way, then across…
The pattern was in there somewhere. If she watched long enough she could learn it and then perhaps take part, bring things into their correct order and undo the playful tangle of confused missteps.
"It’s better when no one is too bothered about getting it right. More fun." The man was still smiling. He was clearly quite an easygoing sort, even in Astrid’s presence, which made her inclined to like him. It never occurred to her he truly did not know who she was.
It was quite, quite obvious.
"Let’s try our hands, shall we? Or our feet anyway." His hand drew her into the ring of people and before she could pull back or even think, they were whirling and she was trying to keep up, keep her feet, keep herself from laughing. She failed at all three, like every one of the dancers, as the folly and the movement warmed the winter from their bodies.
