8
Voran stood in the middle of a marketplace. Everything around him was obscured by a veil of dust kicked up by hundreds of sandaled feet. The smell of it was like chalk mixed with sweat, but it tasted spicy, one of those exotic spices like tarragon or cumin. What he could see reminded him of no place he had ever seen before.
How did I get here?
The merchants’ stalls were cobbled-together concoctions, hardly more than flat boards on wooden stilts, without even a single awning as protection from the sun. Instead, the mostly dark-skinned merchants wrapped white towels around their heads. Every once in a while, they would douse themselves with water from small buckets. To Voran’s surprise, they also drank tea like it was water, and the steam coming from it made it clear that it was hot.
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