The marketplace was crowded, loud, and busy. Vendors shouted prices. Metal clanged as coins exchanged hands. The smell of bread, meat, and oil hung in the air. People pushed past one another without apology. Children ran between stalls, laughing, dodging adults who barely noticed them.
Near a stone well at the edge of the market, four young wolves sat on the ground in a loose circle. They were between five and seven years old. Their clothes were worn and patched. Small stones were arranged in careful lines on the dirt between them. They were playing an old game taught to them by elders and travelers. The goal was simple: outthink the other players and claim the last piece.
A boy with short dark hair and scraped knees made the final move. He stared at the stones for a second, then placed one down.
"I win," he said.
The other children leaned forward. A small piece of bread, wrapped in brown paper, lay beside the stones. It had been the prize, agreed upon before they started.
