Today would have been a good day for rain, Leslie thought. The plants whispered to him of dryness, their voices soft and cracked like a riverbed whose water had long abandoned it. It made him sad, and terribly thirsty. Just by listening to them he could feel his windpipe shriveling, his tongue growing scratchy and tasting funny.
Would it hurt to make it rain, he wondered, his plea going to a being that he shouldn't have even known existed. Just a little, so the plants would stop wailing like ghosts, hissing in his ears?
But the sky remained clear, the sun bright, the air dry.
She could make it rain if she wanted to, he knew. Had done it before when he'd asked or needed it. Had even made it snow on him in the middle of summer out of spite for a light-hearted jest toward her being unaware of what he wanted at times. With today being Market Day, however, Shea appeared to have other plans, and those plans did not involve the flowers of Arca. Sadly.
Pouting a little, Leslie glanced around at all of the city folk. It was hard to care about plants when there were so many brightly colored people about. Arca boasted a wide assortment of nobility, and those were often the most attractive. He could buy himself a new frock today, one to match his periwinkle eyes.
Currently he wore blood-red silk, the lightest material he had for this heat. Autumn came slowly in Arca--the summer sun still blazed on the inhabitants. He had his hair pulled back in a matching ribbon which he'd tied into a neat bow.
Up ahead stood a young man, not too catchy in appearance except for his boyish features. Leslie had not met many elves in his lifetime, but he knew when he saw one, and this fine specimen with his pointed ears and rounded face was definitely of elven descent. Even hidden under a hooded cloak, Leslie knew.
And he had such an enticing pulsation to him: one of secrecy, ambition. Hard not to recognize the sure-tell signs of a thief. But this young man was not cruel, no. Simply getting by.
Survival was a funny thing, making moral codes change.
Leslie watched as the elf went about his business, snatching a large man's coin purse with the ease of practice, and then trying to sneak his way out of the situation, none any the wiser.
Except Leslie.
He waited until the elf was some yards away, following him at a short but non-suspicious distance, before confronting him. He came up behind the young man and put a hand to his shoulder to gently turn him around.
"Excuse me," he said, smiling. "But you wouldn't happen to know where a man might find a nice frock, would you, young man?"
