Nobody reads a mystery to get to the middle.
Having accepted his mission, Knell happily strolls alongside Special Agent Dad, oblivious to the secret objectives. She's more of an information gatherer herself, soaking in his every word while her gaze flits from one ostentatious stall to the next. There's just so much. The variety of colors and smells and wares and accents draw her attention in every direction, a million questions and theories rising from each new observation, flickering in her eyes like raindrops on a clear pond only to cascade into an infinite series of ripples that she'll never have enough time to identify. Instead, Knell keeps her mouth shut - figuratively since it's in a fixed position of awe - and absorbs as much as she can, trying desperately not to miss anything that might help her learn more about this trading hub.
Her tail steadies her when one of the planks shifts beneath her feet, avoiding an awkward stumble when she sweeps the bustling crowds for flowers. "Why are Uncle Mateo's the best?" she asks absently, angling up on her toes when she sees a billow of oddly colored smoke. Are her eyes playing tricks on her or are they shaped funny?
Knell's red hair falls over a shoulder when she tilts her head to see around an exceptionally tall man ahead of them. "And what's for dinner?"
Her tail steadies her when one of the planks shifts beneath her feet, avoiding an awkward stumble when she sweeps the bustling crowds for flowers. "Why are Uncle Mateo's the best?" she asks absently, angling up on her toes when she sees a billow of oddly colored smoke. Are her eyes playing tricks on her or are they shaped funny?
Knell's red hair falls over a shoulder when she tilts her head to see around an exceptionally tall man ahead of them. "And what's for dinner?"
Knell
They read it to get to the end.
