The small girl walked among the market stalls, her head turning this way and that. Bare feet padded silently on the paving stones, with no concern for dampness, dirt, or mud. She dragged her doll along behind her, holding it by one porcelain hand, the doll's dangling legs dragging along the paving stones. The girl and the doll passed through the streets silently, searching, searching.
Eventually, she found what she was looking for. A stall outside of a blacksmith's forge. Within, the heat of the forge roared while the clanging of hammer on iron echoed out onto the streets. The blacksmith could be heard grumbling as he worked, each mutter of his breath punctuated by another strike on the anvil.
Outside, minding the stall, stood a younger boy. Various wares hung about on display: candle holders, simple tools, knobs and hinges, decorative wall hangings, belt buckles, and more. The boy hawked the wares, attempting to draw the attention of the various passerby.
Trinket stood before the stall, silent, studying the various items on display. Tools. Decorations. Hardware.
Boring.
Beyond the stall, inside the open front of the building, stood racks of more dangerous items, not to be kept out on the open street. Weapons for sale: swords, maces, daggers, flails. And one particular item that caught Trinket's eye: an axe.
The axe was small. No more than a hand axe, easily wielded in a man's single hand. Though it would be quite weighty to a small child. Quite too dangerous to be handled by such a small girl.
There was no easy access to the weapons. A barrier blocked the way, so only the boy in the stall could reach them. Trinket stared at the boy. He occasionally glanced her way, but mostly ignored her.
Finally, Trinket stepped forward. She pointed past the boy at the axe.
"I want that."
The boy frowned. He looked over his shoulder where she was pointing. Then he shook his head and laughed. "Go home to your father, girl."
Trinket stood perfectly still, her arm held straight, her finger pointing at the axe. "I want that. You are a trader. You give people what they want."
The boy snorted. "Yeah, not to little kids. And not for free. So get lost."
Trinket didn't move a muscle. Her eyes never wavered. The only movement came from the doll, turning its head to stare the boy down with its glassy black eyes.
"I want that," Trinket said once more. "Let's trade."
Eventually, she found what she was looking for. A stall outside of a blacksmith's forge. Within, the heat of the forge roared while the clanging of hammer on iron echoed out onto the streets. The blacksmith could be heard grumbling as he worked, each mutter of his breath punctuated by another strike on the anvil.
Outside, minding the stall, stood a younger boy. Various wares hung about on display: candle holders, simple tools, knobs and hinges, decorative wall hangings, belt buckles, and more. The boy hawked the wares, attempting to draw the attention of the various passerby.
Trinket stood before the stall, silent, studying the various items on display. Tools. Decorations. Hardware.
Boring.
Beyond the stall, inside the open front of the building, stood racks of more dangerous items, not to be kept out on the open street. Weapons for sale: swords, maces, daggers, flails. And one particular item that caught Trinket's eye: an axe.
The axe was small. No more than a hand axe, easily wielded in a man's single hand. Though it would be quite weighty to a small child. Quite too dangerous to be handled by such a small girl.
There was no easy access to the weapons. A barrier blocked the way, so only the boy in the stall could reach them. Trinket stared at the boy. He occasionally glanced her way, but mostly ignored her.
Finally, Trinket stepped forward. She pointed past the boy at the axe.
"I want that."
The boy frowned. He looked over his shoulder where she was pointing. Then he shook his head and laughed. "Go home to your father, girl."
Trinket stood perfectly still, her arm held straight, her finger pointing at the axe. "I want that. You are a trader. You give people what they want."
The boy snorted. "Yeah, not to little kids. And not for free. So get lost."
Trinket didn't move a muscle. Her eyes never wavered. The only movement came from the doll, turning its head to stare the boy down with its glassy black eyes.
"I want that," Trinket said once more. "Let's trade."
