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theonecalledwanderThe children break off their song and scatter as I come into sight of them. Afraid of strangers? Maybe, or maybe just generally fearful.
There is a well ahead of me. Next to it is a trough for horses or similar, though there are none at it now and to judge from the condition of the grounds, there haven’t been any for some time. At least not since the last hard rain, and while the grass is green the ground is reasonably hard and dry.
There aren’t many people about, either, though there are more signs of them than horses. The well itself shows sign of frequent and recent use. Most of the shops that front onto the square are closed, literally… they’re of the style where the window folds outward to form a counter, with living quarters above.
I see movement, furtive and quick, behind the curtains of a few of the upstairs windows that aren’t shuttered.
Suiting name to deed, I wander over to one of the open shops, which appears to be a bakery. I tip my hat back away from my face. It is my fashion to wear it with the brim pulled low, but this is a town that knows fear. My job, from the front to the back, must be to dispel that fear.
“Bread smells wonderful,” I say. “I’ll give you this for a loaf.”
What I pull out of my pocket is a coin. If the baker’s never seen it before, she is in the same boat with me, but it’s probably a fair price. It usually is, so long as I don’t push things too far.
The baker takes a prudent moment to examine my offering, but accepts it without comment.
There is a well ahead of me. Next to it is a trough for horses or similar, though there are none at it now and to judge from the condition of the grounds, there haven’t been any for some time. At least not since the last hard rain, and while the grass is green the ground is reasonably hard and dry.
There aren’t many people about, either, though there are more signs of them than horses. The well itself shows sign of frequent and recent use. Most of the shops that front onto the square are closed, literally… they’re of the style where the window folds outward to form a counter, with living quarters above.
I see movement, furtive and quick, behind the curtains of a few of the upstairs windows that aren’t shuttered.
Suiting name to deed, I wander over to one of the open shops, which appears to be a bakery. I tip my hat back away from my face. It is my fashion to wear it with the brim pulled low, but this is a town that knows fear. My job, from the front to the back, must be to dispel that fear.
“Bread smells wonderful,” I say. “I’ll give you this for a loaf.”
What I pull out of my pocket is a coin. If the baker’s never seen it before, she is in the same boat with me, but it’s probably a fair price. It usually is, so long as I don’t push things too far.
The baker takes a prudent moment to examine my offering, but accepts it without comment.