The market was a crazy as ever, and she loved it. There were carts parked against the sides of buildings, merchants carrying their wares through the crowd, voices all competing to be heard above the others. The smells, both pleasant and unpleasant, were potent and pervasive in the summer heat. Most of the merchants were almost desperate in their attempts to catch the attention of shoppers. For their part, the shoppers were simply trying to get through the crowd, find what they came to buy, pay as little as possible, and leave. To contrast this chaos, one merchant girl sat calmly beside her cart. Her wares were rare in the extreme. Lengths of cloth, expertly woven and exceedingly fine. Spices, herbs, and minerals from places most had not heard of. Her prices were reasonable, her products genuine.<br/><br/>She sat calmly, perched on the edge of her cart, watching the shoppers and merchants mill past her. Occasionally someone approached her to examine her goods. She made a few sales, but mostly just observed. Once or twice, a few people entered the market, crossed around the square without looking at anything on other carts, then stopped to converse with her. They never made a purchase from her cart. She always pulled a parcel from the boxes stashed deeper in the cart for them. Her smile was warm and genuine, and they always seemed to leave with a surprised smile on their faces.<br/><br/>The morning wore on, and it seemed the market day would pass as it always did. There would be nothing different about today.