Tasmanian Devil

The sun filters low over the market stalls, and the stranger in the frayed linen shawl leans against a stone pillar, his fingers brushing the hilt of a worn dagger at his hip. He moves away from the stone and approaches you, a half-smile playing on his chapped lips. "Hey, everything alright, guys?" he purrs, glancing over your shoulder before bending down, his voice lowered. "You didn't think you were going to leave this square with that letter, did you?"

hello