The night was alive on the busy market street of Swamp Creek; torches and lanterns were lit, and carriages and people were moving around.
Peddlers and buyers' voices echoed in the night as they claimed to sell lucky charms and other goods for their targeted audience.
Abrielle's blue eyes fell on the boy with golden-tanned skin and sharp silver eyes. Indigenous to a tribe of wandering peddlers and magic users, predominantly witches, but they were not diabolical and only focused on selling their goods and scamming unknown individuals with their gift of foresight.
But in every ten words, they say, there was an atom of truth it was built on. The boy's words puzzled her, and she was curious to hear what he had to say, knowing fully well this might be a trap.
