Somebody had once told Anemos that humans were the most complicated of creatures, prone to sporadic lies and deception whenever it best suited them: And, in his opinion, nobody authenticated this belief with more pinpoint accuracy than his father, Arichias. 
All his life he’d told people he was human, but- quite clearly- he was actually some form of miraculous man-spider. 
Because, when Anemos had finally waded his way out of the crowd, and reached the point at which his dad had finally stopped his sudden and unprecedented distancing between himself and the prince’s cavalcade, he hadn’t found the older man standing still, not at all: He was climbing. 
Quickly. 
With fluid, articulate movements, and a surprisingly lively and versatile set of techniques, he’d begun an on-spot ascension of the closest set of scaffolding to him, a wooden tower which clung tightly to the stone of an aged building, and- despite its apparent stability- had clearly not been constructed with spontaneous scaling in mind, based on the distance between the bars. 

Despite his age, however, he looked to be spry and full of gusto: He’d managed to conquer it in a matter of minutes, seemingly without too much effort, and perched himself quite comfortably at its top as he stared down at the Prince’s procession. 
Anemos sighed, his hands impatiently pressed against the sides of his hips as he glared up after him. 
He shouldn’t have been surprised, really: Arichias had borne the title of Gales long before he had, and had only passed it on so early because an unfortunate fall during one particularly heavy training session had rendered his left shoulder broken in such a way that it would never fully recover. 
Still, having watched his climb, one might have dared to think the injury hadn’t been so detrimental: Indeed, it only flared up in times of intense movement. 
It was a shame that most of Gales’ acrobatic repertoire was made up of dynamic movements, then. 

“Dad!”, he called, glare unwavering, “Hey, Dad!”
Arichias dropped his gaze southwards, and waved down to his son as though what he’d just done had been the most natural thing in the world. 
“Dad, how old’re you?”
He thought for a moment, and then shrugged, “Much older than I think I am, judging by your tone.” 
“That was really dangerous. Why did you wander off?”
“No reason.” 
“Dad.”
“Adventure?”
“[i]Dad.[/i]”
“The view’s better up here, is all! I didn’t wait all these years to get a [i]glimpse[/i] of the prince, son. Imagine! Two decades, and I can’t even see him through people carrying their children on their shoulders!”
That brought a smile to Anemos’ face, at least: It was an innocent reason, and he could appreciate it. 
He smiled fondly, “You know, you used to put [i]me[/i] on [i]your[/i] shoulders.”
His father paused, and gestured to himself in surprise, “Did I?”
Anemos nodded, and Arichias chuckled, “How insufferable we must’ve been.”

His countenance brightening slightly, Anemos threw a glance back to the crowds- which were growing, and indeed, obscuring the view- before turning again to his father.
“Hey, dad, clear a seat! I’m coming up!”
With a slight bouncing in his heel, Anemos grasped the scaffolding’s framework with both hands, and began to scale the structure himself: The bars were quite inconveniently spaced, with some being very close together, and the others being at nearly a full arms’ length away from its predecessors and successor, and as he climbed it became all the more clear to Anemos that it’d been constructed hurriedly, no doubt in anticipation of the approaching carnival. 
Still, though, it was of little detriment in the end: If Arichias had been able to scale it, Anemos certainly could, and did. 
When he reached the top, he found that it was actually quite a firm and sturdy wooden platform, and sat himself down beside his father as he glanced down at the distance he’d covered. 
It was, at most, about twenty feet, and more than enough to allow a clear view of the ceremony. 

He leaned back on his palms, as he stared down at the armoured celebrities that Clock Town now celebrated as if they were their own. 
His father’s tutting caught his attention moments later, however. 
“Tsk, tsk…”
“What?”
“That was very dangerous, Anemos. Climbing that scaffolding like that.”
Anemos creased his brow in genuine confusion, before Arichias rolled his eyes sportively, and jabbed his son playfully in the shoulder, “That’s my boy.”
“Shut up, dad,” he retorted, albeit in good humour. 
“There’s your mother again.”