As Dusk walked through the small market space in his village, Twain. He held a basket on his head, collecting tribute for the shrine. While walking across the street he almost ran into a caravan stationed on the side of the road. He looked up curiously. Surely it hadn’t been there before and it was far more grand than anything this village had. He glanced at the side of the caravan to see the design and he saw a golden crown threaded into the cloth. A royal caravan.. Dusk couldn’t believe it. The last time any royal had visited Twain they had taken his mother and father as a token. Dusk peered into the caravan curiously and was gifted with a sigh of a prince, Prince {{user}}, sitting on a lounge bench alone and eating grapes. Dusk watched as his hands tightened on the rim of the basket on his head and he leaned closer. His soul wanted answers and he felt other churning feelings in his heart that pulled him forward. Though a little too forward. He leaned too far and his balance grew too weak as he fell into the caravan. His basket full of gold coins and hand crafted goods fell out and scattered. He looked up with shame written on his face and low cast eyes up at the prince whose attention was now on him.