Breana never knew that a city could be so large and so many people could be in one place.  Her nervous grip clung to her father’s hand as they shuffled with the crowds over the Market Bridge leading into the capital city of Ardholm.  The autumn day was crisp and clear, the kind of day that songs and odes sung of before the knight set forth on his quest, and the air was thick with music and merriment as the city and surrounding counties celebrated Harvestfest.  This was Breana’s first time coming to the Ardholm, her first time going anywhere, and her lithe frame could barely contain the excitement building inside her like a crashing tidal wave.  Her father Alton and brother Lan, whose hand she clung on equally in her other hand, had been coming to the fest for as long as her 10 years could remember, but she was always too ‘small’ to go with them.

     “You’re a wisp of a thing, Bree,” her brother would tease, “you’ll get lost in the crowd for sure, and we’ll spend the entire day looking for you.”

     Wisp. She would always pout whenever he called her that and would put on a good show of being upset, but she loved the nickname he gave her, and it suited her perfectly. Even for her age, Breana had always been a small girl, short in stature and thin as a rake, but she wouldn’t ever be considered frail.  She had been born over a month early and, had it not been for the care of the local midwife, would not have survived. From then on, she thrived; she was a dynamo of energy and enthusiasm for everything she saw, her blue eyes twinkling with excitement and mischief.  Her mother, frustrated for years of trying to hold back a river, had given up on pretty dresses and fancy ribbons for her thick brown hair and resigned herself to mending tears and bandaging scrapes and bruises she always came home with.

     “Papa, I can’t see.”

     They were nearing the main Market Gate, and the crowds were getting thicker as the procession funneled through under the less-than-watchful gaze of the soldiers, who were doing their best to enjoy the day's festivities despite pulling guard duty on this holiday.

     “Up ya come, Bree,” her father replied, bending down to lift her to his broad shoulders.  Having farmed and worked the fields his entire life, Alton had a lean, muscular physique with rugged features sporting heavy lines from years in the sun that would have aged him had it not been for the sharpness of his eyes and the agile way he moved.  He was country-strong, a familiar trait that allowed rural folk to work hard before dawn until long after dusk without respite.  Still, time could not keep out the light touches of gray creeping into his thick beard and dark hair, which he still liked to keep looking long and youthful.  Alton and his son Lan, who, side-by-side with his father, may as well have been a younger clone, had just delivered the last of their harvest to the Eastside Village distribution center for sale.  

     It had been an excellent year, better than expected with bumper crops and high demand, that left Alton looking to the future and thinking of expanding his lands, especially with Lan growing into manhood and his eventual betrothal.  Or at least he assumed so.  It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Lan had been spending his spare time helping the Claigan family up the road, neighbors that just happened to have a daughter blossoming into youthful womanhood.  He smiled inwardly as his thoughts drifted to the prospect of his son building a family. He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts as Breana began bouncing excitedly on his shoulders, pointing to the city gates happily crying, “We’re almost there.”

     Alton smiled and patted her leg, which dangled in front of his chest.  He hadn’t originally intended to go into the city, but one of their ponies had thrown a shoe and would take time to get replaced.  He had never been a fan of the cramped confines of the city, preferring the fresh air of the open fields. Still, with their mother passing away this past winter after suffering from a sickness beyond the knowledge of the local healers, and with the incessant pleading from Breana and, in no small part from Lan, he finally gave in.

     As Breana continued to bounce on his shoulders and point out everything she saw, they slowly made their way through the gate, passing by the uninterested city guards. They were hit with a wall of sound, sights, and smells. The city of Ardholm was always the hub of commerce in the kingdom of Eloria. Still, on the final day of the harvest festival, the explosion of people massing and shopping around the merchant stalls was staggering.  

     Crowds of people stacked like undulating fire logs around hastily erected wooden kiosks of wares gathered from every corner of the kingdom.  Stalls overflowed with a kaleidoscope of fabrics.  Rich purple velvets as dark as twilight sat beside vibrant yellow cotton that gleamed like sunflowers in a summer field.  Tantalizing silks caught the light, shifting from gold to ruddy copper as they lay in cascading folds on the counters, while heavy woolen cloths held deep forest greens with rough and earthy textures.  Necklaces of beads, shells, and precious metals hung and swayed, catching and reflecting light under the bright sun, tinkling and beckoning with bright sounds as hands, calloused, smooth, young and old, pulled and inspected the endless varieties of rings, broaches, and trinkets for sale. Merchants had grand kiosks set up in front of their shops laden with weapons, armor, books, and tiny bottles of colored liquids,  and frequently, Lan had to be pulled along by his father as he stopped to admire a bejeweled dagger, gilded sword, or an oddly shaped trinket.  

     There were stalls of food selling plates of meat, bowls of stew and soup, pastries, and drinks.  Suckling pig, chicken, and goose slow-roasted and turned on spits grease dripping off crispy skin, popping and sizzling on red-hot coals.  Meat and fruit pies were pulled piping hot from clay ovens, steam rising from within flakey golden pastry with elusive but powerful hints of cloves, garlic, and nutmeg.  Baskets overflowed with red and golden apples, autumn gourds with mottled and warted skins of green and yellow, and carts laden with orange pumpkins ranging from the size of a stone to that of a small boulder.  

     Rising over the din of voices hawking wares and haggling prices, bards plucked on the strings of lutes, sending music from the sound box echoing and sweeping over the crowds.  They were accompanied by reed flutes, woody and haunting, and kept in time with the rhythmic thumping of tabor and naker drums.  Jugglers, dressed in brightly colored clothes adorned with embroidered cuffs, ruffs, and bells, tossed balls, fruit, and knives in the air with the music and to the gasps of amazement of children with wide-eyed wonder.  Breana was fascinated with the entertainers.  A few years ago, a bard arrived at their village and delighted the residents with songs of heroism and tragedy.  Much to Breana’s delight, the Bard also performed magics that left her awestruck as she sat rooted (her mother noted - for the first time in her life) watching the performance, and she longed for the mysterious bard to fulfill his promise to return.  Now here, though, magicians were dueling with each other, producing dancing lights and cascades of sparkling fire while onlookers clapped and cheered on the performance.  She strained her tiny body around, trying to watch them as they slowly moved past.

     “Papa, I want to stay and watch the magicians,” she moaned as she whipped her head from one side to the other, trying to watch the show.

     “There’s more magic in the square Wisp. Up ahead.  There’ll be stages set up, you’ll see.” Alton replied.  

     “If we can get through this bloody crowd, that is,” he mumbled as the whole experience reminded him why he preferred the open land.  He looked to his son, standing at a table full of weapons, inspecting a dagger with feigned expertise.

     “Lan, stop gawking at every treasure on every cart and help me get through this mob.”

     With the slightest look of disappointment, Lan nodded, putting down a particularly impressive dagger, and helped his father push through the crowd, heading for the city center and Market Square.