Penelope

A trade caravan has arrived at Northwich!

We have not had one since we arrived here last year. We are a little careful around them with our goods. We have fur from the forest, tanned leather and jewelry from the Heron and other various odds and ends. 

They have brought all kinds of things we have done without here on the Northern frontier of La Longi. 

A woman named Penelope Derkhaurt is the master of the caravan. She is sharp and cunning with a deceptive sweetness about her.

“Muck boots!

Clean out the stables in them!

Pretty good condition!

They aren’t that heavy, perhaps a pound a piece

You might have to clean them a bit.”

All business this one.

A young man brings a carving he worked on last winter. It is an elaborate wolf with it’s ears perked high. 

The muck boots are yours, lad! She lowers her head and looks up through her eyebrows which are carefully attended to. Her smile makes the young man blush. The carving was a work of art worth ten times that much I would suppose. 

The Heron are here in great numbers. They have the savvy to understand the game. They have pulled out all the stops and have brought a large amount of their goods in my estimate. The Heron know how to haggle.

Penelope is most assuredly gifted in presentation.

“I cant wait!  I can’t wait to sell that!” She declares.

“Long hair is a prized possession. Did it come from a live or dead person?” 

The Heron have a few long bundles of hair. I am not inquiring on the method of collection, but she is not squeamish. Coin is coin to Penelope. She quickly devalues their collection.

 “Oh, see this defect, It is not the quality of my customers desire.”

The Heron are undeterred and it is mesmerizing to watch the flow of conversation.

I am learning quickly It is stylish in some circles to braid and weave hair into existing portions of the head.

I don’t think I will be going to bed any time soon.

Author: The Storyteller

Don't count the lions. It will make you afraid and slow you down.

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