AINO
Narrow leather straps on a worn satchel cut into her shoulders. Adjusting the weight with a quick shrug, Aino glided smoothly around a pair of old hunters that stopped dead in the street to argue about the contents of a sack. "Mornin'," she chimed in what might pass for a cheerful tone, and quirked a smile at them when they stuttered and staggered aside. Geezers. Old codgers who never knew when to quit. Not that the young ones were much better; with practiced ease she ducked under a spear carelessly waved about as a pack of them drifted by. "A little late to head out now, boys," she warned when one waved an apology over a shoulder. They laughed and assured they would be fine, and she laughed back; no doubt they had been drinking away the night, and didn't haul themselves up until just now. Aino glanced up at the sky and grimaced. It was nearly noon. They would be lucky to find anything worth bringing back in the few hours of daylight that remained.
It was a gamble she might have made too, once, but these days she could not afford it. Turning around a corner she pushed the thick braid back over her shoulder and headed towards the stall. Someone had shoveled it for her; Lyra, no doubt. The niece was a godsend.
With brisk, efficient movements born of weary practice, Aino began to unload her burdens onto the display. Glistening, silver-scaled fish began to line up on the stall. Frozen already, but freshly caught; somewhat of a rarity on the market, and people began to queue up even before she had finished setting up. It had not been a very good catch, but what she did bring would sell out quickly.
"Alrighty, nabo, here we go," she called out in a carrying voice, thick with accent, "who's first today? Step up!" Smiling, efficient, ready to haggle. Just another day reeking of fish.
Gods above, she hated her life.
It was a gamble she might have made too, once, but these days she could not afford it. Turning around a corner she pushed the thick braid back over her shoulder and headed towards the stall. Someone had shoveled it for her; Lyra, no doubt. The niece was a godsend.
With brisk, efficient movements born of weary practice, Aino began to unload her burdens onto the display. Glistening, silver-scaled fish began to line up on the stall. Frozen already, but freshly caught; somewhat of a rarity on the market, and people began to queue up even before she had finished setting up. It had not been a very good catch, but what she did bring would sell out quickly.
"Alrighty, nabo, here we go," she called out in a carrying voice, thick with accent, "who's first today? Step up!" Smiling, efficient, ready to haggle. Just another day reeking of fish.
Gods above, she hated her life.
For the good times that we share,
and the bad times that we'll have
and the bad times that we'll have
