Hungry Eyes

 



Khevol wandered among the winding alleys in the sprawling market district.

The sights and smells left him reeling. A fishmonger's catch drifted on the same breeze as the incense seller's eye-watering powders.

At one alley opening, he spotted a woman with exotic paint on her eyelids. She was from the southern desert, and she danced to a nearby musician's wooden flute, the glittering rings on her low-cut satin dress jingling.

Castle guards were here and there, just enough to keep everyone on good behavior.

But it was the owls that unsettled Khevol most. They were everywhere, and most shops and stalls had a perch for them to rest and stare.

He heard that they hunted mice that would otherwise pilfer or spoil the sellers' goods.

Still, they looked like they were watching him. Intently. Hungrily.


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