After yet another close shave with Tarrant’s men, Aylin took a moment to ground herself after the journey at sea. She took but a moment to close her eyes and breathe deep, gathering the heady mixture of salty sea air, mingled spices from the bazaar, the symphony of different languages interwoven with the countermelody of the crashing waves and crying gulls. She could like it here, she told herself, or perhaps she was just being hopeful.
A boisterous baritone snapped her out of her reverie. Aylin blinked at him, taken aback at his sudden interrogation and took a moment to take note of the man before her. Those were rather personal questions, were they not? Could this man be the leader of this place? Regardless, he seemed well-off enough. She offered him a gentle smile and bobbed a curtsy.
“Thank you for your gracious welcome, sir!” She began, “truly I am passing through, hoping to experience your lovely city. Perhaps you can point me in the right direction of the nearest inn, Mr…?” Her voice trailed off, hoping the stranger would introduce himself.
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