Wet cobblestone pavement was cluttered with too many wandering legs, too chaotic for an early morning business. Beyond that, a group of dark hooded figures stood against the thatched stalls of pottery and ceramics. The hillsfolk, Neela thought and stepped into Kami's pawn shop.

Swirls of smoke danced in front of her, welcoming her with a lingering scent of sandalwood incense. A plump man sat at the table, his cheeks more flushed than the crimson tunic cladding his body. Gold, silver and other souvenirs adorned the symmetrical shelves on either side of him.

Kami glanced her down with a momentary pause before his big mouth opened up, "Stay there. What do you want? If you're ​here for alms, then turn around and leave at once or else..."

"No sir," Neela intervened, caution lacing her voice. "I'm here for business."

"Business?" Kami put the quartz magnifier and gold coin back on the table, "what business does a beggar have with me? Go away child, don't ruin my early morning business."

Neela revealed the small gunny burlap, "beetle wings! I've got beetle wings."

Kami sighed and muttered as he received it to examine, "such bad quality. Five beads."

"Sixteen silver beads." Haggling was never a strength for Neela, she had always failed haggling with Jagor, her Mai or Uma for that matter, settling with something the other person wanted at the end. But today, she needed those sixteen beads to travel and return from citadel, no matter how bad she was at it.

"Five. Take it or leave."

"Sixteen." Neela swallowed down the itch to round it up for ten beads.

"Six."

Before she repeated the same number nonchalantly, a shadow grew upon her like an everlasting eclipse. Kami jumped up from his cushioned seat and payed respect for the hooded figure with joined hands and a bow. "Welcome, sir."

Beneath the dark veils, a pale skin shone due to the the sun rays falling in slant, so pale the veins beneath it branched down to their neck like a tree's root. A few more similar figures accompanied him into the pawn shop.

Of all the hillsfolk, a youngling caught Neela's attention. "Sueé thra?" It asked her showing her a stick of jaggery, in seemingly a young feminine voice.

Neela, like any other Paala villager, didn't want to indulge with hillsfolk unless it was trade related. She stepped away from the child until the shelves stopped her with a clunk of fallen souvenirs of two headed garuda and a five headed elephant. Neela fumbled to pick them up before they bounced with several ear numbing metallic sounds, nevertheless the elephant's figurine did land near the hooded customer's foot.

"You unlucky piece of dirt! I told you..." Kami cursed, his cherub cheeks infuriatingly flushed. But for his surprise, the hooded man picked it up for her.

"Sorry, sir." Neela nodded, but the hooded man's fingers wouldn't let go of the souvenir.

Kami cracked his knuckles and bit his lips, when that didn't suffice, he grabbed it from both of their hands. Flashing a vulpine smile, he cleaned it with his sleeve before placing it on the shelf. "Th-they are expensi..." He swallowed as the hooded man shot a glance at him.

To Neela's skin, the hooded man's fingers were colder than her mai's seared arm.

"Sureem dho ya." The hooded guy had mumbled with his sapphire eyes transfixed on her face, for which the little girl nibbling on the sticky jaggery had giggled.

It all seemed weird, their language, their skin and the way they dressed. But she had now got an interesting little tale to glorify and narrate to Jagor, it's not like she had a fantastic story to brag about every other day, especially when he had so many with so little time they spent in the woods.

The hillsfolk had presented a pouch of beetle wings and another of golden ore sand sifted from the Nanda river banks.

Kami had payed them ten silver beads for the beetle wings. For the fair business man he was, he was left with no other option but to pay Neela the same amount as well. Fortunately enough, the arrival of hillsfolk had proven auspicious for Neela at the least.

She strode through the cobblestone path, the stench of filth from the butcher shop and the fish market overtook the lingering sandalwood scent from the pawn shop. She took a sharp right turn, unable to bear it anymore and entered the elites' area. There, in between all the mud and brick walled houses, stood a house with stone blocks and recent lime wash.

"Jagor." She called out loud, standing at the gate of verandah. The minty herbs and wavering colours of the flowers put her mind at peace immediately. From the foyer, Jagor peaked his head. His hair disheveled and face greasy.

"Ah Neela." He greeted, "what's up?"

"Nothing. I need to speak with your father, is he there?"

"Oh c'mon in. He is in his chamber, studying his good old encyclopedia."

"Jagor!" A loud voice breaking from inside sent them both quivering.

Jagor's mom stood at the door step, her face too young to deem her as someone's mother. "You...you girl, stay there. Don't even try to set your filthy foot in our house."

Neela nodded and backed away. But Jagor was her best friend... her only friend, ever since she'd known to crawl on her fours. How could Jagor's mother address me like that, without even taking my name?

"Mother!" Jagor ground his teeth, his knuckles blanching due to tight fists.

"Jagu, you know nothing. You never listen to me, do you? Now look, she's at our doorstep. Who knows what these beggars dream of these days."

Neela bit back her tongue swallowing all the things she wanted to say in her defense, now was not the time. Her hands wrung around the tight string of her bow until they left a fiery red rash on her palm, her lips too sore to chew anymore.

" 'Nough!" warned a voice from behind the swaying white curtains, "Sukhi, go get her something to drink."

Jagor's mother, Sukhi, turned on her foot hiding the embarrassment beneath her anger and retreated.

"Son, bring her in."

Earthen smell of old palm leaves and scented oils left her head almost dizzy, she felt herself succumbing ​to the divine power of it. Racks and racks of old parchments and bundled palm leaf inscriptions left little space for the healer, near his desk stood an oil lamp casting a yellow glow over his turbaned headress.

"Mmm...so you've decided to go to citadel. Otherwise, there's nothing that could bring you to this fire seething lady-dragon's hollow. Speaking of dragon..."

"Where to find it? Name, address, anything at all?"

"Mmm." He went through a rack of palm leaf inscriptions till he found an old ragged one hiding underneath many such parchments and books. "Aha. Here it is. Galantha Simbha."

"Here." Jagor's mai placed an earthen cup of water, spilling the liquid all around, her lavish ornamental bangles jingling with her every movement.

"Thank you, una-mai."

"Galan is my old friend," Jagor's father chuckled laying the series of dried leaves on his work desk. "...from Kashmora days, it isn't sufficient if I say he made my childhood better. Here is the address, here is my letter. Just show him this and he'll help you."

"Thank you, sir." Neela almost jumped up receiving the letter, her hands trembling in excitement. "You don't know how grateful I am."

"But there's​ one problem, dear." His eyes aimlessly searched something on the floor, "you must know that I haven't heard from him for ten years and there are several possibilities like..."

"He might be dead? Or gone back to Kashmora? Or he might not have the dragon root?" Neela rambled, "I know. But I'm ready to take the risk."

The healer chuckled leaving Neela and Jagor baffled. "I like your spirit, Neela. I wonder why hasn't my son learnt it yet, after all these years of being with you. Do me a favour, daughter. Teach him, he's always pessimistic, always lazy and hopeless."

"Father!" Jagor wailed, his brows knitting into a tight frown, "seriously?"

"You have my gratitude, sir." Neela smiled, guzzling down the water hastily, spilling some on her leather armour -which she used to cover up the petty holes on her blouse.

"Yeah yeah, besides all that sweet talk, take the cup along with you and throw it somewhere. We don't want to catch the plague from you." Sukhi blurted that before retreating into the kitchen like a hurt wolf to its abode.

Jagor's father sighed with a smile that wasn't actually a smile, "guess we can never change some things."

Neela took the earthen cup with her as she left the chamber, her eyes glazing with a veil of flimsy tears. Not because she was hurt by Sukhi's words, but because her mai was finally going to be well, or so she thought.

Jagor stopped her by arm. With a swift motion he snatched the cup from her hands and drank the leftover water and raised it for a cheer.

"Here, never take my mai's words to your heart," Jagor said with a wide grin of his, its tendrils of warmth stretching to caress her aching cold heart.

Neela couldn't have been more luckier than that, or was she?
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Thanks a lot for reading this book. :)