The city square head been transformed into a stage of epic proportions. Common man and nobles alike were gathered to bare witness to the heir games. The children were already waiting to begin. Their order was decided by the Mother's hunt. The Bell of the Hunt's child would go last, and everyone else went in the order of their Mother's seniority. This was advantageous to the first few children, because they didn't have to follow in the footsteps of the winner's child. There would also be more light for them to perform by.
Thus, Keen stepped out onto the stage, dressed in an ornate black and gold armor. He looked like a tiny God of war as he took position center stage. "I am Keen, Son of Bastil and Feya, the First Prince." He announced with a firm voice as the drums began to beat. His arrogance carried through his tone, as if they were lucky just to be in his presence this evening.
As the drum continued, he began an intricate series of steps and motions with his sword as if acting out a battle against an unknown foe. To some in the crowd, this looked like a dance designed to train the body. Experienced and more trained eyes however quickly realized it was just the simplest of training maneuvers put to a musical beat. The build up of the music cast the illusion of dynamics were none truly existed. It was nice to watch, but there was something missing. Soon his dance came to an end, and the young prince swept a partial bow, brandishing his sword toward the crowd as he did so, several men on the front row slightly moved so their wives were behind them. To brandish a sword like that… was improper.
After he left the stage props for the next child were put in place, consisting of a small box and a few toys, along with a nursery rug. Suddenly the Stage felt like a slice of the royal palace nursery, with just a few touches. Alexi walked out, carrying his young daughter in his arms. He set her down gently on the Rug, beside the toy box. The little girl smiled, it was a beautiful expression as she stood, her little toddler legs barely supporting her. Her dress was very simple, blue with a white apron, edged with ruffles. She took a small apple out of the pocket.
"I is Dryn, Baby of Alesi and Mommy." Her cute little voice tried to pronounce the names with such a serious expression that it was heartwarming, but also earned some soft chuckles from the crowd. It was clear the child knew this was important. "I am reciting short poem by Rain Jira from Mommy's homeland called 'An Apple and a Kindness'." She continued as she stood beside the little chest. The words were not all easily understood, afterall she was a toddler and her speech was not perfect but the story was easily followed since the important words were there, in the right order, just some letters such as 'z' and 'x' became a 's' sound. The cadence of her words however, was soothing and enjoyable which they couldn't ask for much more from her.
She told the story of a Little Apple girl. The story went: A little beggar boy was hungry and dirty, living orphaned on the streets of a small village. Winter and the boycott had been unkind and left many children without parents. The boy had resorted to stealing bread from a merchant, but was caught. The merchant went to strike the child, only for his hit to land on a little girl who had walked up. Her cheek stung, so much tears welled up in her gentle eyes. She held out a copper coin, more than the bread was worth. He took the coin and she turned to the little boy, who was just a couple years older than she was. He felt guilty for her bruised cheek, but was surprised when she helped him to his feet and gave him an apple. That single act of kindness, from a poor apple girl moved the merchants to act. From then on, paper bags of food, what could be spared from yesterday's harvest, were placed on the corner across from the apple girl's stall. Poor children were fed, because one child saw the need for kindness where others saw a dirty thief.