[Sua's happy to be in the market district of Treun. After March saw snow in Leathann, a sign that the Seven Star Oracle's prediction about the Drabwurld ending was right more than anything else, getting back to something even slightly more familiar is nothing short of a blessing. Sure, there's proper things she needs to see to in the city, like popping into the family company's business office, but she isn't inclined to rush. Not right now, and not when she wants to check in with old vendors to ensure they weathered the freak extended winter, as well as run a personal errand or two.
With her dog on his leash - the market's no place to let him run lose, he'll just end up causing the food stalls a headache - Sua takes her time walking, going through familiar thoroughfares and waving to faces that she knows.
The leather district's scent reaches her nose before she sees it. Hard not to, it's distinct as hell, and with a few more yards, a sea of brown and black hues greet her, broken up by occasional deep dark blues, reds, and purples. The wares have changed a little, she notes, walking past a few stalls that happily advertise new bags with complicated stitching. They're nice, but not needed. Sua knows exactly where she's heading, and it's for the same leathermaker who's sold her belts for over ten years.
Who, as Sua finds out, approaching the same spot that the stall is always at, is closed for lunch.]
Damn!
[The frustration is enough to keep her from noticing that her dog's sticking out in the middle of foot traffic, sniffing at everyone going past.]
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With her dog on his leash - the market's no place to let him run lose, he'll just end up causing the food stalls a headache - Sua takes her time walking, going through familiar thoroughfares and waving to faces that she knows.
The leather district's scent reaches her nose before she sees it. Hard not to, it's distinct as hell, and with a few more yards, a sea of brown and black hues greet her, broken up by occasional deep dark blues, reds, and purples. The wares have changed a little, she notes, walking past a few stalls that happily advertise new bags with complicated stitching. They're nice, but not needed. Sua knows exactly where she's heading, and it's for the same leathermaker who's sold her belts for over ten years.
Who, as Sua finds out, approaching the same spot that the stall is always at, is closed for lunch.]
Damn!
[The frustration is enough to keep her from noticing that her dog's sticking out in the middle of foot traffic, sniffing at everyone going past.]