Young Gerin, his heart fluttering within him like a captive bird, gawked openly at all around him, feeling proud and important. This day the hunt wore a different look; nothing appeared the same as he remembered it. All had changed, becoming more colorful, more exciting, more thrilling than ever before. For this day he would ride with the hunt!

He swiveled in his saddle and threw a conspiratorial glance back at Toli, who rode behind him. Toli was talking to Durwin, but saw the look and answered it with a wink.

Gerin turned his eyes to the sights around him. Jugglers tossed knives and hoops high into the air and caught them deftly; a man with a trained bear on a chain made it stand on its head; acrobats tumbled and threw one another spinning into the air; some boys had made a pair of stilts from the limbs of trees and were trying to master the art of walking on them; vendors cried over the shouts and laughter, hawking their trinkets: fancy ribbons, jewelry, and tiny lacquered boxes.

The world was alive with sound and color. Here and there music swelled as minstrels gathered small audiences to hear their newest songs; horses cantered and neighed, tossing their heads and setting their bells ringing; children ran laughing, their bare feet skipping over the grass.

The parade entered the field itself, and Gerin turned his eyes to the competition. Ranged around the long rectangle of the field were tents and small pavilions, each with a standard before the entrance bearing the banner of the lord or knight within. Some of the riders were outside their tents, seeing to the last-minute details of tack or weapons. Hunting hounds lay on the grass waiting for the chase to begin, or strained at their leashes, yapping eagerly at one another as they sensed the moment of their release drawing near.