In the Moon Platform Square, clogged with colonnades and small vendor carts and carriages, Ange Rock descended the steps, glancing around.
The morning sunlight pierced through the gauzy smoke, lightly falling on the mottled ground.
The rustling sound of pedestrians' clothing.
The rattling sound of carriages rolling over the ground.
The shrill cries of a young mother commanding her children to stay away from the traffic.
Layer upon layer of double-decker freight carriages crowded around, with drivers in neat clothing, wearing felt hats and swinging their whips high, cracking them loudly in the air.
Flowing slowly along the circular road, with a lawn in the center.
At the center of the lawn, a fountain with a stone sculpted beaver was Saintess Catherine lifting her single arm.
The water flowed like a transparent vampire vine, lifting a fist-sized stone ball.
