The WIP:
Winded, but safe, I stopped in an empty lot near the old wall. A firecart offered meat sticks, while the strange little people who lived atop this section of wall passed in abundance on their own errands. No Selistani were in evidence.
I fished out a copper tael and bought a length of some birdflesh. I didn't ask, and the man did not say. It tasted mostly of charring, and a bit of sage, but that was good enough for me. My hands were busy and I looked as if I might belong there.
Truly, I needed to stop wearing black leather. It was like a fart in a Temple service marking me out and making people stare. I resolved to purchase a colored wrap at the very next opportunity, and decide later how to be safely anonymous.
| Originally published at jlake.com. |
