A Procession

There was word of a procession to come into the town that morning and little Darius wanted nothing more than to be able to go and see it for himself.
All of four years old, he had been given enough chores to fill in the day. His father the metalsmith had been called away with work out of town, now leaving his son with two others in his employ.

Darius could hear the voices outside their little shop and guessed it to be very exciting.

Already in his short life he had seen dressage and contestants and some quite important people sitting high and being carried in their chair-beds on top of the shoulders of others. Once there had been a line of golden chariots go past with handsome men
waving to the crowd.

The fires were making his eyes itch, his nose snuffled with their relentless vapours, and his ears hurt with the hammering all about. He decided to go.

He snuck out and around to the back exit past the hammersmiths who were much too busy to see him leave.

Once outside in the daylight he found it was a smaller group than usual, and thought disappointedly that he must have already missed the parade. He passed through a huddle who were blocking the road to get to the fruit-bread stall. The lady there would give him bits of cake, just by him putting his hand up.

He had seen his father kiss her once and knew then and there that she could be kind.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series