Two days later, the sheer, vibrating thrum of the packed arena hit Eamond like a physical force as they pushed through the entrance tunnel. It wasn't just noise; it was a living entity, a dense wall of sound composed of thousands of voices, stomping feet, and the metallic clang of vendors' bells.
The air hung thick with dust kicked up from the sandy floor, the sharp tang of sweat, cheap ale, roasting nuts, and the underlying, primal scent of anticipation.
They were a small island in the human sea: Eamond, Vale a step behind him like a watchful shadow, Link buzzing with nervous energy, Syd trying to look stoic but failing, Mia clutching Farrah's hand with wide-eyed awe, and a cluster of older orphans, including Jake who'd begged to come.
At the center, anchored protectively between Eamond and the frail yet strong presence of Matron Celine, was Garret.
The boy flinched as a particularly raucous cheer erupted nearby, a wave of sound crashing over them.
