Vyarin was shamefully unprepared for this particular event. These people of the south have a certain way of doing things that no doubt they have grown accustomed to, having grown up with these methods. However, he had never even seen such a display until just last year, and are still somewhat confused by its application. These nobles, dressed in their finery, have formed a tradition of standing in rows, walking circles about each other in pairs on their tiptoes until some point comes when the pairs break off to find new ones. It confused him to no end, these southern formalities and traditions, and Apura's seem the finest and most traditional of them all. His eyes darted about the participants, then towards the crowd of bards in the back playing instruments he'd never seen. None of them looked like the bardic instruments of his homeland; no serpent-tongues or steel-cords to be seen among them.

After watching for a little while longer, he began to recognize a pattern. The bardic group played and the participants followed. In his mind, everything clicked into place. It reminded him of the military drills his father loved so much to preside over. The bards, they were not so different from the wailing shamans or the banners with their blowing horns. This act they put on, it is not so indifferent to the lockstep formations and the mock-duel patterns, set to the command of shouting princes and their clansmen. Perhaps Prozdy and Apura are on similar ground, if the latter are so dedicated to drilling that it has become ritual, even in the highest levels of their society.

Armed with this newfound knowledge, he cast his gaze over the crowd again. There was Annalise, fluid and- Vyarin stopped himself. Look at someone else, anyone else. He was not going to play his father's game. There. As one song ended and another began, the green-skinned noble joined by a resplendent noble lady formed up to the line. Vyarin kept his gaze locked on the large fellow. They were not so different. Barring the hair, and the colour. What mattered was their similar dimensions. In his mind's eye, Vyarin could see himself in a similar position. Left here, right there, turn and follow . . . Vyarin whispered commands in Prozdy aloud to himself. Today, he was going to be his own drill commander. A small step forward when the other man did, a small step back, he slowly began to mimic the performance. He could learn this drill given practice.