Smile nearly as broad as his grease smudged face, Terrent strolled through the market. Slim of build and lithe of foot he swam through crowd as a minnow in the idling brook. Mirthful eyes, round placid pools of blue, took in the chaos of commerce as though it were a carefully crafted symphony of humanity.

“Aspera, look! Look!” croaked a fatigued voice as a thin but firm hand took hold of Terrent’s shoulder. He didn’t fight the action, but spun complacently to meet the interaction.

All haughtiness and disdain, a solid but graceful figure clucked disapproval, “Nec, my dear, you mustn’t be so rude, even to the detritus as it floats by. You’ve startled the poor boy.”

“I’m not startled. S’okay,” Terrent shrugged.

“But look, Aspera,” the ashen faced woman persisted in a frantic hushed tone, “Look at it. It’s new.”

Aspera scoffed, “Nec, you old drama queen. There’s nothing new about the vagabond lad, not a whit.”

Nec eyed the boy greedily, “No. Yes. Just one thing. This ‘un, he’s got a new soul.”