“Those beautiful golden eyes!” The sights and sounds of the Hilshor bazaar came in such quantity, in such depth and vibrancy that it should have been an impossible task for any particular one of them to be seen or heard apart from all the rest. Only a child or stranger could stumble through the overcrowded alleyways and even notice a man swallowing a sword just a pace to their right, or pay any attention at all to a twirler of flames, dancing and juggling just an arm length away. A lifetime of staring into the sun would dull any eye, and in such a spirit the senses of any market regular lulled into deafness once they entered the city’s bazaar. It took a cunning tongue to whip a word that could strangle and reel back an otherwise well guarded ear, yet there existed in plenty such masters of speakership, and so too existed at least one pair of ears caught entirely off balance.
All it took was a glance and Jata knew she had made a terrible mistake.