Silver hair sparkled in the starlight, or streaked golden in the firelight.  Young Meave strode into the party, not quite skipping 'til she got the baskets done.  From time to time, she saw a lad she knew, like handsome Berash the hunter or sturdy Calvin the miller's hier.  Then she stopped to meet their eyes and curtsy, only then wishing her skirt were just the slightest bit longer to accommodated the gesture.