I looked at my brother proudly. My small fourteen-year old heart pounded in my chest, the spirit of all our people with me. At my side I felt the presence of my uncle, likewise as happy as me but more cautious of our presence in the Principalian crowd, and the others behind me. As a group we were the white snow in a blanket of summer, staring up at the procession and following them with glee.
People stared at me, but I did not care. I called out to Frederik with cheerful glee, shouting at him, "Fred, Fred!" and he waved back as he rode past.
The bannerman who had initially bumped into me struggled to get further away, but with the crowd to one side and the procession to the other he could only suffer my joy. My wave blocked part of his vision, my flag blocked his as I waved it erratically, and around us people let out small gasps. But what could you do when you were young, barely a beginner mage and irrevocably and irreversibly admiring of your older brother?
The crowd and the bannerman would just have to suffer and wait. It was my time to love who I was and where I was from, along with my companions who were the lone Narvegans in this ocean of Prominenes.
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