“ wanting what’s in the window?” the butcher’s booming voice cut through the market bustle. i nearly choked on the stale bread i was gnawing. i swallowed hard, avoiding his greasy gaze behind the thick counter.

“ nothing,” i mumbled, clutching the crust tighter. the roasted pork hanging from the ceiling rack looked like a piece of heaven. its glistening fat promised a feast my empty stomach desperately craved.

the butcher chuckled,与他那油光滑亮的下巴一起晃动着。“see? no one wants it.” he prodded a chunk with his cleaver. “this is the best part.” the crimson juice spread like paint over the white marble floor, drying into a sticky stain.

i shifted my weight, the worn leather of my hood scratching my neck. i’d only been in this city for two days, but already the hunger gnawed at me harder than the time i spent dragging my feet through the mountains. back then, at least the air was thin and the ground was hard. now it was thick with smells of spice and meat, smells that reminded me how far i’d come from the woman who’d bullied her way out of the hills.