Lucas was sat at a table across from his tutor, a balding man who sported a lisp. Usually he was captivated by history lessons, but today he was exceptionally restless. His feet swung back and forth in his chair, a good foot from the ground. He was rather small for his age, several inches under the average four feet. His growth rate may have been a bigger concern if all the castle's eyes weren't on the health of his father. This lack of attention caused Lucas to act out regularly, and his short attention span was detrimental when he was with his tutor. It was difficult for him to pay attention to his lesson when it was so sunny outside, the first clear day they had experienced after nearly a week of rain. Lucas was just itching to go outside, his gaze fixed on the grounds beyond the window. His tutor took notice, and clicked his tongue at the boy to grab his attention. "Why don't we take a break?" If Lucas were more observant, he may have noticed the frustration in the man's tone. Instead, he nodded happily and hopped down from the chair, not forgetting to push it back under the table afterwards. His tutor was strict about manners, and Lucas wanted to be on his good side today. The two of them went to the grassy yard of the castle, the tutor sitting on a bench in the shade and keeping a closs eye on the boy as he ran around. His concentration was interrupted when another man approached him, bringing urgent news of the king's health. They were both very engaged in the conversation, neither of them taking notice as the young prince wandered closer to the castle gates. Lucas had always dreamt of what laid beyond these gates. He imagined life was much more exciting, and the people were more neighborly and less stiff, and there were other childrem to play games with. Filled to the brim with excitement, Lucas managed to slip past the gaurds, his small build working to his advantage. It took him several minutes of walking to reach the village, but he wasn't at all tired from the trip. He took in all the new sights and sounds, awed by all of it, despite how truly unimpressive the village was. Lucas was unaware of the guards that had been sent to retrieve him as he walked around the shopping district, going with the flow of the crowd on the streets.

His stomach grumbled angrily, heat churning in the pit of his belly. Swollen with air, his hands roamed over it; trying to soothe it. Quietly telling it to be patient, they would have their fill soon and to do so, they had to be quiet. Beside him his father grasped his hand gently, turning his head to down at the toddler as he tugged on his hand. His own mouth felt dry and his tongue was like a sandy stone in the desert, still he pointed to his stomach and managed to rasp, "Bokh." "I know, Chakano. We will have our next meal soon. Be patient." The man breathed, leading him forward. The sandy floor scraped his thick skinned heels, warmed by the light of the midday sun, but he had been born walking on crude sand as his father had said. He was distracted by the warm scent of baked flour and grain filling his nostrils with heady scents. Rare wetness entered his mouth and his eyes lit up as they approached the humble paint faded Bakery. His excitement overshadowing the trepidation and adrenaline that always overtook his tiny frame whenever it came time to eat. The Bakery was one of his favorite places as well amongst all of their picking points. The burning oven in the back of the bakery always cast the place in a cherry warm golden glow and it was always filled with the scent of Bokoli that always stood in the window. Fresh sweet ruby jam spilling out between thick slabs of soft bread. His stomach churned excitedly as if it was already filling his belly and his mouth watered freely now. Unfortunately, his father gave his arm a gentle tug and gestured to the much browner plainer baked flour bread on the shelves seen through the bright windows of the shop. On the back shelves too, so it was well known that it had been there long enough for it's golden brown surface to lose it's crackle and the soft dough to go hard, stale as it would be, it was the easiest to pick and the least likely to be missed. Crowded as the shop was always in the morning, his father had always picked the perfect time to pick. Hunched over the man crept forward and he followed, clutching the cloth draped around his shoulders tighter around him. Pushing past the crowd of customers streaming forward to get the freshly baked bread, fishing out copper coins from their sewed purses and pockets. He was sure to snatch up what fell onto the floor and rolled beneath their feet, keeping the twinkling little coins stuffed into the loose band of his shorts. Running his hand quickly over the copper surfaces engraved with the strange symbols he did not understand and faces he did not recognize. They were important, however, according to his father and this morning there was quite a few dropped. So absorbed was he in his task of navigating through shoes and heels, crawling past legs that he was quite startled when a hand reached down and grabbed him, tugging him forward. Looking up, he saw his father, a noticeable bulge hidden away in his coat, eyes insistent that he hurry, but a silver flash caught the corner of his eyes and his ears pricked as the rounded coin rolled across the floor past polished boots. Brown and red were common, very common, but silver was few in number. He'd be quick. This was worth it after all. With copper they could eat in a week's time if they got enough, but with silver, he could feed them for a day. They could walk in like the other people and pick what they wanted. His mind wandered back to the sweet Bolkoli warming away in the window and his stomach growled. Shaking off his father's grip, he dived forward for the glinting silver. Slapping it down with his palm to stop it from rolling away into the cracks. And as his hand closed around the cold silver piece, a cry was heard from over head and the stomping feet stopped next to him. "Thief! Thief!" They parted like wings, the feet threatening to stomp down on the little boy crouched low beneath them. Flat on his stomach, he clutched the silver coin to his chest and reached up to shield his head, looking up through the forest of feet to see familiar legs running past them. Unwilling to be left behind, the boy cried out and scrambled to get onto his own feet, pushing past the many bodies hindering his path as he chased after his Father. Out into the bright light of the morning, looking right and left for his father. "Who is a thief? What nonsense is this?" A shout like an elephant's bellow filled the air. The parole of guards standing over the caught 'animal'. Surrounding him like lions with silver gnashing teeth. The boy cried out, little legs carrying his body forward as he raced towards his father, calling him out. A little voice lost in the murmurs of the bored crowd come to see this unusual dramatic display in their daft town. Excitement that they rarely had a taste of, a pain that a little boy had never known. Silver glinted in the light of the sun, like coins that could feed them for a day, coming away red like sweet jam that spilled out of bread. "Papa!" He cried out, but the thing he fell down next to wasn't his father. The thing he fell down next to was cold and stiff when he shook it. It no longer held onto the precious bread that his father had always said he'd give his life to have. It wasn't his papa, it was a vile dead thing. Dead and deader, rotting under the hot sun. Still, he didn't want to believe that. Still, he shook the dead thing and called out for his papa, he cried out for copper and silver and for the bread they were meant to have this afternoon. And above him, those who knew better laughed. "What is this? A dirty piglet come chasing after a swine?" He turned his head up, eyes blinded by the sun. Dark silhouettes hung over him, unfamiliar with glinting eyes and predator teeth. Faces he didn't recognize amongst the people of the town, unfamiliar except for one. The one who held the silver blade with ruby red jam sprinkled on it's handle. The same sweet red sinking beneath his nails, staining his skin. The sound of mocking laughter reverberating in his head over and over, bouncing against his skull, running past his vision and then out, but gone when he turned his head and looked around for it. Reaching up, he pressed a hand against his burning eyes, rubbing away the sunlight. Drenching everything in red. But the laughter wouldn't stop and the sun just shone again painfully bright as it joined in his mockery. He was not an animal, he was not a swine or a dog like they called him, but in that moment, the little boy bared his teeth and pounced onto the royal guard.