Though the streets had thinned out since her arrival, they were still enlivened by a healthy amount of people. However, Lara wasn’t really sure what number properly constituted as healthy: her few experiences to draw from were the isolation of Champaign, the frenzy of Indianapolis, and the version of Circa she’d initially encountered.

Regardless, she decided it was whatever number didn’t flame her desire to curl up and die.

She awkwardly maneuvered around some men and women who didn’t bother moving out of her way. She rolled her eyes, getting used to people’s general disregard.

The street was just large enough to pack shops, restaurants, people, and additional living spaces together, but none of the buildings stretched nearly as high as the four glass fortresses towering in the distance.

She didn’t realize she’d been staring intently at their profiles until a woman shoved past her, yelling incoherently.

Lara apologized, though the woman was now much too far ahead to hear her.

“Or not,” she murmured, somewhat put off.

As she continued onwards, strings of lanterns and lights pulsed, hanging rambunctiously across one another to the roofs of opposing buildings. Beneath them, stalls engaged their fluorescent signs, and incredible scents began to waft from beneath their canopies filling Lara’s nose as she walked down the street. She halted in her tracks, any and all space in her mind completely overtaken by food.

A rumbling stomach echoed in her ears. Inhaling deeply, she peered around, tracking the smell that called to her most.

I can stay focused -- it’s just a quick stop, she convinced herself.

Lara wandered over to the other side of the road, taking care not to step on the metal of the single track in the middle.

Combing her fingers through her hair in an effort to tame its wild disposition, Lara mentally sorted through excuses, highly aware of the fact that she had no way of paying the stall-keeper. But when she reached the stall’s counter beneath a red canopy, the smell had become so overwhelming that her train of thought had completely derailed.

“Oy, hello, young lady!” Boomed a man behind the counter, turning his attention from the fryer in front of him to greet her.

“Hello!” She burst a little too enthusiastically, mimicking his bright tone.

He wiped his hands on his apron, coming closer. “Sit, sit!”

She did as she was told, ravenous.

“You look like you’re in need of a sample!”

“I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious,” She said, struggling with the saliva wetting the corner of her mouth.

The stall-keeper burst out laughing, breaking through the sound bubble of his stall and reverberated out onto the street. His mustache and belly shook in sync.

Lara wiped briskly at her lips, hoping to mask her embarrassment.

“Here.” He handed her a lengthy skewer of three meat chunks.

“I’m poor,” she blurted, guilt already overruling her initial plan to eat and run.

“True for us all, down here.” He held the skewer closer to her face, adding, “Free sample.”

Lara peered at it, then him – receiving an additional nod of approval before she took it and immediately ripped through a chunk.

She struggled to chew slowly and savor the flavor, but it had already disappeared. Lara looked at the bare wooden stick in her hand, then awkwardly handed it back to him, his face draped in surprised amusement.

“My goodness,” he bellowed.

Lara felt her face heat up shyly, “It was really good.”

“Well I can’t imagine you had enough.” He reached for another one, ignoring her objections, and offered it up.

“Now, where’ve you come from?” He inquired, turning back to the stove.

Lara chewed cautiously. “A few blocks down,” she answered, not completely lying.

There was a sizzle of hot oil. “Here in Gurram?” Not used t’seeing clothing like that come out the cracks.”

She paused mid-bite, heart pumping.

“Looks like Freehelm goods.”

Lara glanced down, regarding the ribbed fabric cradling her torso more clearly for the first time. It was embroidered with small flowers that stopped at her hip, followed by an ivory waterfall that draped down to her calves. A tiny strap clung to either shoulder, which were now blanketed in goosebumps alongside the dusty shadow of mud.

He was right. Aside from the dirt, she looked nothing like the people traversing the street.

“It was a gift,” Lara finally answered.

The stall-keeper smiled, seamlessly transitioning his attention from the stove to seasoning and chopping a large, bloody slab. “Friends in high places!” He yelled back to her.

Before she could respond, she felt a tug on the side of her dress. Lara didn’t see anyone as she looked over the barstool, but another tug prompted her to look down.

A small boy peered up at her from beneath his blonde fringe, eyes huge and blue as clear sea.

He can’t be more than four or five years old, she thought, realizing“What a wee lad!” Boomed the stall-keeper from over the counter. “And how’d y’get all the way out here?” she had neither encountered nor seen any other children until this moment.

“Er,” Lara blinked, taken by surprise and unsure of what to do. The hem of her dress remained balled in his little fist.

The boy jumped at the sound of the man’s voice, and Lara felt his anxious rattles traveling up her skirt.

“Oh – no, no!” She began to panic, “It’s okay!”

The boy’s face trembled as the shopkeeper’s furry reddish-brown brows furrowed, realizing just how much he’d startled the young one. “Now I didn’t mean to scare ya!” He quickly washed his hands and hustled around the counter to the stools, certainly more massive directly in front of them. The boy shook harder – large, plump tears dropping from his face.

Lara slid from the bar stool, crouching to reach his level.

Consolation, she thought. Consolation...

Hastily, she held up the skewer with two meat cubes remaining.

The boy looked it over with puffy eyes, and quieted down some, sniffling.

“Are you hungry?” She asked, smiling.

He sniffled again and mustered a tiny nod.

Lara demonstrated how to bite with a pretend chomp and handed it to him, watching as he ripped at a piece with his miniscule teeth.

“Are you lost?” She asked, his sniffling finally less pronounced.

The small boy nodded once again. She was met with a gesture as he pointed northwards. Lara could do little to see over the buildings ahead of them, but the shopkeeper interjected with a whisper. “His clothes,” he explained, “Freehelm.”

Lara regarded the child’s stainless white shorts – fitted perfectly for his little body – and the blue of his boxy sailor’s shirt. It was an odd, playful outfit, but vibrant with color and tailored with care.

She peered down at her own similarly crafted donnings. She’d found her out-of-place companion.

The shopkeeper must’ve been right; which meant from where the boy had come so had the dress – and a very good chance the two men from Indianapolis.

“You come from Freehelm?” She asked for confirmation.

The boy nodded, finishing his first chunk of meat.

Lara stood and looked at the man who smiled.

“Thanks for the food,” she acknowledged stiffly, not sure if he had either known she truly had no money, or believed her to be more financially capable than she was.

The shopkeeper shrugged her off, pointing over the counter and down the road. “Take ev’ry street north. Makes no real difference if y’go left or right. Forwards’ll get y’where y’need to go.” He ended by pulling another meat skewer from the stove. “For the road.”

The child hid behind her skirt, half a face peering out from behind his newfound shield.

Heartily, the shopkeeper laughed and urged them onwards.

But Lara hesitated, her voice soft. “Thank you.”

He deflected the gratitude once more, heading back to his stove. “No need; be careful – him,” he nodded in the boy’s direction. “He’s a special one. Y’don’t find wee ones like that anymore.”

Lara nodded, interested in finding out if he knew why. But she merely waved and began walking in the instructed direction – the boy still hanging on to her skirts.