Between three griffon townships lay an expanse of the king’s own demesne which consisted of several hectares of fields, a lake, and a small forest. Traditionally used by Goldtooth’s clan as something of a private garden, albeit one not marked by statues or walls or cultivation of any kind, it had been designated as the grounds for this year’s fall festival. Handy would discover later that this had been done for cost reasons, at least initially. The festival had been flagging in popularity in recent years, and Goldtooth had seen no reason to go to the extravagant lengths such an event usually called for. Apparently, he had not expected many to show up other than the occasional young, enthusiastic, noblegriffon looking to earn his wingblades and the local peasantry looking for distraction.