☽☽ For the supportive, caring and foremost uxecila  ☾☾

Dawn despised the outdoor flea market.

She dragged her feet along the rocky road that led to a neighbouring Fairenville, pushing the wooden trolley forward ponderously. Wheels creaked as they caught at scattered stones, and Dawn found this trolley an annoyance each time the jars inside clinked.

Heavy clouds hung above, forecasting rain that could last for the whole day. Even though, tints of a peach pulp outlined the clouds just on the east, where the regal sun would have been, had it not been concealed by them. Stripped stripes of field stretched along on either side of the road. At the horizon further away from the field, Dawn could glimpse bands of coppery trees, mixed with barren ones, which had lost their tree crown to the autumn. Timber wagons were left abandoned across the land, and the orange bellies of pumpkins - recently harvested by the closely located farms - faced the grim sky above.

The allotments were waiting for her: the pumpkins along the side of their house's fence had ripened, tomato bushes' branches swelled with bright-red fruit. She thought of all the weeds that needed to be pulled out until the end of the week, and her muscles groaned in reluctance as if they had a mind of their own. The girl wished for nothing more than just to return home and lose herself in her garden work.

Dawn entered the village and spotted two women, dressed in dirty-brown clothing, who were chatting and pushing larger trolleys of their own. She pushed hers with acceleration to catch up with the women, or at least follow them to the market, as Aunt Eyllene's explanation of its location had gone in one ear and out the other.

Her spine was numb from pushing the wagon for almost six miles without a break, and the intense garden work she had done at the Fairens' manor the day before made the ache worse. She rubbed at her sides to relieve the stress slightly and prayed there would be fellow villagers from Springville, who would give her a ride back.

The girl passed small, modest houses, painted in all sorts of colours, made of all sorts of material: brick, wood and clay. Each one of them portrayed the status of each family living in it. Fairenville itself was a wealthier village as opposed to Springville. It was no secret that Mayor Fairen resided there, while his family lived back in Springville. Dawn worked at their house and heard the numerous rumours, passed between the maids, of his steep career ladders climb after a mysterious meeting.

Shouts and constant vibrations of various voices all crisscrossing across the market made Dawn push the thoughts to the back of her mind. She needed to find the table assigned to her and start selling the goods she and her aunt had prepared weeks before that day.

There was no gate or nameplates to identify the market. It sprawled on the cobblestones of the main village's square. The roofs of the stalls were covered with colourful fabrics to protect the stalls from rain. People bustled about, some with wagons and some with smaller trolleys. Larger, sophisticated houses surrounded the square. A particular building, or what was left of it, caught Dawn's attention, and she eyed it, swallowing. She had seen a similar ruin in her own village but did not pay attention to it.

Shaking her head, Dawn moved towards the apparent entrance and approached a young man, who was standing by a small table. There was a list of names clutched in his hands and a graphite lead between his fingertips. He looked nowhere near exhilarated, with his eyebrows furrowed together and his mouth pulled to the side in an unlikable manner, his otherwise handsome face resembled a petulant scowl.

"Good morning, sir. Will you help me find my stall, please? It's my first time being here, you see," she asked, looking up at him through her brows. The corners of her small mouth twitched, and she let her lips stretch into a smile, just like the girls at her village did. Those actions seemed to send the boys swooning over them, as if they didn't have to plough the land or do other hard work. Although, the smile rather appeared to be her baring her teeth at the poor man.

He eyed her cautiously, and his throat had bobbed before he uttered, "What is your name?".

"Dawn Gardner, sir," she swallowed, hoping for the best outcome of this.

Dawn really did her best to avoid conflicts or other misunderstandings to prevent other people from spoiling her happy disposition.

He scanned the list of names until he assuringly found hers and turned towards the market, "Walk until the last stall, take the right and keep walking until you see an empty stall on your left," he explained, gesticulating.

Dawn let out a breath she realised she had been holding. The girl was exhausted from the walk, and the very thought of remaining at the market until just before twilight transformed her into Starleten's most dreadful girl. Nonetheless, she found delight in preparing preserves and drying herbs.

As she was passing by other stalls, she gazed at a little girl, dressed in a baby-pink dress with a beige-coloured bonnet adorning her oval face. The little girl stood beside her mother, who was engaged in a conversation with a potential buyer, and observed them, as still as if she was spellbound. Something sank inside Dawn's chest, as she looked away, concentrating on pushing the trolley. Her disobedient eyes found their way to the clasped hands of mother and daughter, the continuous caress of the thumb along the child's knuckles.

She forced herself to stare in front of her. Aunt Eyllene's serious face flashed through her mind, her pursed lips and furrowed brows never entitled Dawn to forget about their relation. At times when she saw her aunt's pinched facial expression, she would wish to be someplace else, where her mother would be with her. Eyllene never told Dawn where that place was or was her mother and father waiting there for their daughter.

Dawn never pushed for the truth to be revealed.

☽☽ ☆ ☾☾

Water trickled along the dark-blue fabric of the stall's roof and dripped from it in a sequence of orchestrated crystalline beads. As it was predicted, it had been raining the whole day, and Dawn was grateful for the fabric shield above her head. The same worn-out shawl was draped over her trembling shoulders. She sagged into the bare chair and carried on staring at the dripping water in front of her.

Since the morning, she sold three jars of berry preserve, a few jars of stewed plum drink and a leather sack of dried herbs, which she had collected from the lowland meadow. Buyers, who only cared about a good deal and quality, didn't notice the scrupulosity with which jars and sacks were handled, the neat arrangement of the products. They would grumble for a cheaper price, grab the goods and toss a coin into Dawn's palm. Dawn felt a melancholic ache in her chest at what they did, but was it a melancholy she felt or something else?

The day closed to twilight, and fewer buyers were visible among the narrow paths between the stalls. People simply rushed by, barely sparing a glance at the sellers.

Dawn counted seven coins on the table and rested her twined fingers on her lap, a look of wistfulness troubling her facial features. She decided to start packing up and get moving before the night completely took over the day. If she was lucky enough, she would have the chance to get a ride with two women, who were selling goods in the row of stalls across from Dawn. She didn't recognise them, however, they had agreed to help return her back to the village.

As she immersed herself in packing the trolley with leftover jars and leather sacks, a measured movement next to the display table caught her eyes. Dawn slowly straightened her back and gazed at the tall, silver-haired buyer, who was running his fingers along the jars.

"This looks exceptional. Would you be so kind as to pack me two jars of this preserve, my dear?" he looked up, smiling at the girl and handing her a string bag. Dawn sensed a warm feeling spread inside her chest, as the stranger continued to pat the leather sacks. His silvery-white hair fell onto his dark-blue shirt like moonlight piercing a night sky.

No one had said her silly jars looked exceptional during that whole day.

"An infusion with those herbs will aid a fever," she called, when the stranger touched the sack with ginger and cloves.

Dawn obediently packed two chosen jars into his bag and handed it to him. She winced at the cool touch of coins as they were firmly placed into her palm.

"I assume you have collected and dried these yourself?"

The girl nodded.

"That was silly of me to ask. If you haven't, then you wouldn't have made the effort of coming all the way here with that horribly heavy wagon of yours," he chuckled to himself.

Peering at his face, she noticed how his eyes crinkled when he chuckled. His smooth, yet at some places creased, golden-brown skin glowed. A black silhouette of a crescent moon adorned the spot between his unruly eyebrows. He held a wooden staff in his right hand, the top of which was coated with a shiny substance.

"Where are you from, girl?" the stranger asked. He regarded her without deviation, and his ethereal eyes pierced her as if his eyes were separate from the rest of his appearance. Dawn observed something ancient and mysterious about him. It felt to her as if the elderly man before her had walked the ground of this world for many years, if not centuries.

"Just a village nearby, sir, less than 3 miles to the south-east of Fairenville," she lied. His eyes caught a glimpse of gold coins on the table as if to change the subject. Dawn noticed, and her heart skipped a beat.

By the blue skies, he is not going to run away with my coins, is he?

"Have you any idea where to contribute all this income to?"

"Yes, sir. I am going to Wolfbourgh once I have enough finances to afford the trip and other needs that will come with it."

"Pray tell, what would a girl like you find in a huge town like Wolfbourgh?" he asked, his eyes widening not even a bit. She admired the emotional containment of the stranger, however, she then considered whether she had conveyed too much information.

"I would like to work at the Observatory of Starleten," she uttered, fidgeting with the laces of her midnight-blue dress's bodice. Dawn caught how the stranger's eyebrows lifted for a split second, and she couldn't help the churning feeling inside her stomach, as if she was standing in front of her mother, who did not approve of her dreams. She tried to calm her pounding heart but to no avail.

"There is not a thing wrong with such intention. My child, everyone has interests of their own. Tell me, what would you like to do there? Are you certain this place would suit you? All sorts of creatures infest the capital city of our realm, beware."

"I know and I am not afraid of them."

Another lie that she smoothly weaved into their conversation, yet she sensed he was shrewd enough to see through her lie.

Dawn remembered her discreditable behaviour in front of that human boy she had met in the forest. She ran so fast, the only thing that could have been faster was light itself.

The human girl was relieved that the elderly man hadn't pressed for details of her potential occupation. Perhaps, it was too soon to yearn for anything. She wouldn't be able to leave her aunt all on her own without a secure monetary situation. Even if her aunt hadn't completely taken the place of her parents, Dawn's heart overflowed with genuine gratitude.

She examined the stranger before her once again. His attire was that of a wealthy human: dark shirt, dark waistcoat and front-creased trousers. Every piece of clothing complimented his tall, almost slender frame, exactly the same way his dark shirt expressed the lucency of the silver eyes and hair.

He cleared his throat, and Dawn snapped out of her thoughts. "Then you must have heard of the most unfortunate event that took place yesterday?" Noticing her confusion, he continued, "The Library has been burnt down, to my greatest regret, and I reckon the Observatory wouldn't stand in the same place for long."

Upon hearing the news, Dawn staggered.

"That is impossible, the Library contained the knowledge of the past, accumulated for decades," she broke off, shaking her head in disbelief. "There were millions of scrolls and books, and they were all harmless. Who would do such a thing?"

"Why, humans, of course," he said. His expression was as unperturbed as it had been earlier, and Dawn began to consider it as irksome behaviour.

"Well," she started, "I refuse to believe this. Humans would never do such a thing. After all, it was a library established and maintained by their descendants."

"You speak as if you are not one of them."

The words pierced Dawn right through her soul. Her heart rate picked up a pace. She looked up at him in puzzlement, trying to grasp the meaning of what he had just said. To her incredulity, she found him being in a quandary, too. It was as if his face had relaxed from the emotional restraint, leaving his feelings bare for others to read from his face.

He swiftly recollected himself. "I believe I have already taken up much of your time, child," the man inclined his head in a farewell.

Dawn plopped into the chair. Thoughts raced through her mind in a disarray, and she rubbed her forehead with the palms of her hands, trying to calm her mind that could have exploded with questions at any moment.

What did the man want from her? Why did he assume that she was not human? And why did he look surprised at her reaction? She could have brushed this off had it not been for the man's emanation of a mysterious aura.

In the distance, a sharp tapping sound of the staff lessened.