The snows had melted, for the most part, replaced instead with rain. The forests were starting to look genuinely green again, and the pelts of those valuable creatures within it rather patchy with shed winter fur. Not very pretty or worth much of anything.
So now, Rhian was forced to emerge entirely from the woods and collect her pay. The earlier she got to the tanner, the less likely they would be glutted with pelts, and the higher the price she was likely to get. Money was good.
But, even waking up before dawn, she still had to stand in front of the tanneries, dancing about from foot to foot and waiting for them to open up for business. They still smelled bad, even when the tanners had gone home; stinking of rotten brain and tannins, like the worst tea overbrewed to the point where the scent alone seared the nostrils.
The fur merchants and clothiers who paid the best price wouldn't give it to a backwoods peasant like her; snobby bastards. She'd at least get an honest price from the middlemen in the tanneries, and she was friends with a few of them.
Even at this early hour, a few people were out and about; most were bundled up a bit, as it was still rather chilly in the darker hours. Rhian amused herself for a short time puffing clouds of steam towards the sky, willing the streaks of dawn to grow brighter faster.
Finally, smoke and steam began to rise from inside the tannery, and the doors opened up for business. Several others were milling around outside, but Rhian was the first in.
--
The haggling over prices hadn't taken too long; just to the point where both parties felt decently satisfied, but not cheated. A brace of silvery lynx had proven to be particularly valuable, and Rhian's purse was now substantially heavier.
It better have been. Lynx claws hurt, and Rhian didn't have the patience for traps.
Well, purses. Common coin she kept in a bag on her belt, next to that scary hunting knife of hers; copper, bits of silver, coinage that wouldn't attract too much attention. The really valuable stuff she kept in a second money belt, hidden under her shirt and the work belt to prevent any sticky fingers from getting into it.
So long as they didn't make off with her pants, the half-dragon's money was relatively safe.
But now, as ever, she was contemplating what to do with it...and how to get more of it.
She didn't think those Connolaothian rifles came cheap. And she really, really wanted one. Her bow was nice and performed well in the wet, but its range was limited; she had seen a guide in a noble's hunting party take a deer that was easily five, six hundred yards away. It hadn't made too loud of a noise; something seemed to be muffling it, but she had no idea what it was.
Rhian was also fairly certain on the difference between a rifle and a musket; a rifle was a precision instrument. A musket was something you gave to infantrymen en masse and hoped they drowned the enemy in lead instead of actually hoping for a hit. Something about the long shiny metal bit on the gun made them different.
She wandered the early morning streets of Ketra, musing on this and other thoughts, and not particularly paying specific attention to where she was going.
