In that instant, the bustling noise of the crowd washed over Suzy like a tidal wave.
She took a moment to look around. Beneath her feet were smooth, flagstone paths that had been polished to a dull shine from years of foot traffic. Flanking the street were old wooden storefronts, some flying embroidered cloth banners while others hung carved wooden signs. A tavern banner fluttered gently in the breeze, the words "Drunk Fairy Inn" inked across it in elegant calligraphy.
Along the roadside were numerous stalls selling what looked like exotic fruits. The produce was a vibrant, fiery red and larger than a fist, piled high into neat little mounds. The vendor was a white-haired elderly man lazily swaying a cattail leaf fan painted with indecipherable runes.
He was nodding off with half-closed eyes, occasionally blinking open to call out, "Freshly picked fire dates! Three low-grade spirit stones a pound!"
Fire dates? Spirit stones?
