“I didn’t know this area was called Eagle Head,” Zaire said plainly to whoever would listen out of the six initiates chosen to go on this “harrowing” expedition. “Or Eagle Eye. But, I really don’t like geography. Can’t wait for the day when someone makes a map that tells you where to go. They’ll be rich.” If Zaire could handle the pressure perhaps he would try his hand at such a great idea, however, he felt far from passionate about making such a thing. Not like he had much time to waste on a passion project in the first place— even if it would make him rich.
The boy had his hands shoved into the pockets of his breeches, leaning back lackadaisical as if he and the other initiates weren’t about to enter Nalaikh, a city far from Vel Anir and hardly anything like it. For one, as far as Zaire could tell, there was hardly any sort of delegation on who could be where. The moment they had stepped into Nalaikh, Zaire had been assaulted by the images of humans and elves philandering about unburdened and even stranger races milling about. One person had looked like a giant bipedal lizard and was harping about how he sold the best apples. Zaire couldn’t help but thinking that he should be selling crickets instead.
Speaking of crickets, the street food was interesting. Almost anything and everything could be found cooked on a stick. Starfish on a stick, eel on a stick, sparrow on a stick (ooh crunchy), cockroach on a stick (crunchy but gross), bearded striped dragonflies on a stick, and plenty of normal meats and vegetables on sticks as well. Walking through the street, hot grills filled with smoldering wood could be found in the center, allowing patrons to buy raw items on a stick to then grill to their liking. As they walked by, plenty of people were hunched over, turning bugs or fish or whatever poor thing happened to be skewered.
Zaire wasn’t sure if he should be worried that his mouth was watering from the smoky yet sweet smells.
Lanterns hung decoratively around every step, hanging from storefronts and wooden beams, on homes and fences and walls. Certain streets, especially ones that led to marketplaces or vendors, had lanterns hanging from strong twine that would cross-cross above everyone’s head. The light kept the main streets brightly lit, with only the entrances of alleyways holding the foreboding shadows.
More importantly than all the interesting scenery was the fact that the initiates were the youngest around by far. Plenty of adults looked at them, eyes wide with worry, one old lady had even told the children to hurry back inside.
“I guess they’re taking that curfew pretty seriously for kids,” Zaire murmured, partly to himself, partly to others. “Boooo,” he moaned, “listen to mommy and daddy or the Doll Maker will get you!” Pivoting on his heel, he turned around, making an ugly face and with clawed hands, reaching out to scare whoever was behind him.
The boy had his hands shoved into the pockets of his breeches, leaning back lackadaisical as if he and the other initiates weren’t about to enter Nalaikh, a city far from Vel Anir and hardly anything like it. For one, as far as Zaire could tell, there was hardly any sort of delegation on who could be where. The moment they had stepped into Nalaikh, Zaire had been assaulted by the images of humans and elves philandering about unburdened and even stranger races milling about. One person had looked like a giant bipedal lizard and was harping about how he sold the best apples. Zaire couldn’t help but thinking that he should be selling crickets instead.
Speaking of crickets, the street food was interesting. Almost anything and everything could be found cooked on a stick. Starfish on a stick, eel on a stick, sparrow on a stick (ooh crunchy), cockroach on a stick (crunchy but gross), bearded striped dragonflies on a stick, and plenty of normal meats and vegetables on sticks as well. Walking through the street, hot grills filled with smoldering wood could be found in the center, allowing patrons to buy raw items on a stick to then grill to their liking. As they walked by, plenty of people were hunched over, turning bugs or fish or whatever poor thing happened to be skewered.
Zaire wasn’t sure if he should be worried that his mouth was watering from the smoky yet sweet smells.
Lanterns hung decoratively around every step, hanging from storefronts and wooden beams, on homes and fences and walls. Certain streets, especially ones that led to marketplaces or vendors, had lanterns hanging from strong twine that would cross-cross above everyone’s head. The light kept the main streets brightly lit, with only the entrances of alleyways holding the foreboding shadows.
More importantly than all the interesting scenery was the fact that the initiates were the youngest around by far. Plenty of adults looked at them, eyes wide with worry, one old lady had even told the children to hurry back inside.
“I guess they’re taking that curfew pretty seriously for kids,” Zaire murmured, partly to himself, partly to others. “Boooo,” he moaned, “listen to mommy and daddy or the Doll Maker will get you!” Pivoting on his heel, he turned around, making an ugly face and with clawed hands, reaching out to scare whoever was behind him.
