By noon, Hajin deeply regretted letting the busy street decide how fast his bruised shoulder needed to move.
Traders shoved carts between the stalls while a skinny acrobat wobbled on a rope above a crowd of clapping children. A mounted patrol held the crossing as a teamster cursed his stubborn horse onward, keeping every passing wheel under supervision.
The capital carried on with its ordinary racket, leaving him to squeeze his battered body into the gaps.
Juna stuck to his injured side and glared at every approaching elbow like it owed her money.
Her nose kept drifting toward the smoke curling from a vendor's awning while her ears dutifully tracked every passing stranger. Her tail swished hard enough to betray which interest was winning, so Hajin never needed to ask what tempted her.
The smell of roasting meat traveled farther than the merchant's prices and needed a lot less shouting.
"Something interesting over there?" he drawled, jerking his chin at the stall.
