Quinta moves closer to the butcher's stand.  The aroma of roasting meat is mouthwatering, the hyperactive goblin a new sight to her.  She does notice the elven woman smile at her - a smile she returns with one of her own and a affable nod.  Something is setting her slightly on edge, though.  She takes another look around.  An apparently casual look upwards as though bird watching, but studying the crowd out of the corners of her eyes.  That weary woman, talking to the elf, something about the rough young men in the crowd.  It might be her imagination, but she isn't sure their dispersal is random.