Midhenryp

Originating from the Merrwan culture, the festival derives its name from the Merrani language, translating to "middle winter." This enchanting celebration takes place at the juncture of Looreaend and Gahsinaend, marking the boundary between these months in a harmonious fusion of tradition and community. The festivities commence at the twilight of the 35th day of the first month, a time when the sun gently bows to the horizon. A symphony of gifts is exchanged among attendees, a delightful custom intertwined with generosity. It is tradition to bestow gifts anonymously, often through intermediaries, shrouding the giver in a veil of mystery. The unravelling of these gifts, however, is reserved for the following morning.
Joyous feasts, adorned with an array of culinary delights, grace the evening. As the fires crackle and laughter dances in the air, tales are spun of the winter's trials and triumphs. Bards step forward, their voices carrying the melodies of the frost, weaving songs that find their wings only during this hallowed time of year.
As dawn paints the sky, the long-awaited moment arrives. The gifts, carefully concealed until now, are tenderly unveiled, often in quiet solitude.  With the sun's ascent, a gesture of benevolence unfolds. The affluent generously gather the remnants of their feasts, bestowing them upon the less fortunate, a gesture known as "Loore Laet" or "late gift." This act echoes the spirit of unity and compassion that defines the Midhenryp festival.
A rich history weaves through the festival's fabric. Rooted in Merrwan traditions from the icy embrace of the northern tundra, the festival found a new home within the Helman culture, its essence evolving over countless years. While the Helman rendition centres around the art of giving and aiding the underprivileged, the Merrwan incarnation embraces the art of storytelling, painting vivid tapestries of the winter's allure.
As the sun journeys across the sky, casting its fleeting glow upon the festival, a bittersweet note emerges. At noon, the jubilant melodies softly fade, transitioning to a quietude punctuated by the delicate strains of the poor's songs, a tradition forbidding those that aren't poor from singing after noon. The final notes of the festival resonate in the air, leaving behind a sense of unity, mirth, and a shared embrace of the season's embrace.