Morning at the Crescent Moon Market arrived with the savory aroma of roasting meat and the boisterous clamor of haggling that had been breaking the silence since dawn.
Rhea Sudrath sat at a corner table in the inn, cradling Ana. The infant was preoccupied with tugging at the edge of her mother's shirt with plump, tiny fingers. The baby understood nothing of the world's complexities—to her, the fabric was soft, her mother's embrace was warm, and that was enough. Across the table, Arvid sipped his steaming herbal tea with his eyes half-closed. The long journey from Iron Hearth had clearly left a lingering ache in his back.
"Did you sleep well?" Rhea asked. Her voice was flat, but there was a razor-thin edge of concern buried within.
"Decently. At least Ana wasn't fussy last night," Arvid replied, massaging his stiff neck. Crack.
"She's starting to sleep through the night now."
