He wandered deeper into the market with the meat skewer in hand.
Esta felt alive in ways Earth markets never could.
A bakery stall made him pause.
The baker, an elderly man with kind eyes, displayed an array of normal bread.
He had golden loaves, twisted rolls, and pastries that looked handcrafted with love.
"Morning, young man. Something catch your eye?"
Noah studied the selection. "What's your most popular item?"
"Honey wheat rolls. My grandmother's recipe." The baker's pride was evident. "Three for one silver."
Noah bit into a roll, savouring the subtle sweetness and perfect texture.
This guy knows his craft.
A commotion near the fountain drew his attention. A crowd had gathered around something he couldn't see, voices rising in excitement and concern.
Probably street entertainment. Or a fight.
His curiosity won, making him approach it.
He walked between spectators until he could see the centre of attention.
Noah pushed through the crowd, expecting to find street performers or some kind of entertainment.
Instead, his blood chilled at the sight before him.
A fat man in rich purple velvet dominated the space.
Baron Richard, judging by the whispered conversations around Noah.
The nobleman's obesity strained against his embroidered doublet, gold chains draped across his chest.
Rings glittered on every finger, each probably worth more than most people in this place earned in a year.
But Noah's attention was fixed on the small figure cowering at the baron's feet.
The cat-boy's black ears were flattened against his skull, his yellow-green eyes darting desperately for escape.
His small hands were bound behind his back with coarse rope that had already rubbed his wrists raw.
A tall, lean servant gripped his shoulder with his firm hands.
"Where is your sister, beast-kin?" Baron Richard's lazy voice carried out.
Kip's mouth remained stubbornly shut, defiance flickering in his young eyes despite the terror.
The crowd watched with interest. It wasn't every day that you saw a runaway slave being caught.
"Answer your master," the servant hissed, pulling out a short leather whip from his belt.
The whip sound echoed across the plaza.
A red welt bloomed across the boy's shoulder, visible through his torn shirt.
Noah forced his expression into becoming neutral, burying the rage that threatened to explode from his chest.
Talking about human or animal rights wouldn't save Kip—in fact, it would be unwise.
So he spoke in a language that everyone understood...