Violins screech in The Moon-high Wharf, hurrying the two Pelargir guards along their night watch. A quick eye and light cast down alleys for troubl—
Something towhead freezes.
“Hoi!” Haldarion calls. The boy shrinks back, trembling. Haldarion grabs an arm – hard – shakes, demanding, “What's your business? Well? Speak up!”
“Hal.” His partner intervenes; the boy wisely flees.
“What? Little Longneck lice–”
“He's mute,” Ambarin interrupts. “Harmless. Lives back of somewhere” – he gestures towards The Bottle – “with his sister.”
Haldarion eyes Ambarin speculatively. “Sister, eh?” Ambarin says naught. His partner snorts, then claps his shoulder. “Fine. Let's go!”
Prompt: bottle, wharf, violin, moon