After sending the girl off satisfied with her sheep doll, and securing the few coins it cost, Belle spotted a boy a little older than the first kid looking at her.  To this boy, she repeated her oft-used tagline, who approached warily before looking over her wares.  Predictably, woven items failed to snare his imagination.  He shifted from one foot to the other, not wanting to speak up either to request something or to admit his disinterest.  Belle thought a moment before shifting her foot beneath one of the wicker baskets.  In a swift motion, she flipped the basket onto its side, then picked it up with a pale hand and held it up.  “Look.”  She placed it on her head, covering hood, hair, and face alike.  From within her muffled voice explained, “It's a helmet.  You wanna join the Sentinels, you gotta practice wearin' armor.”  Apparently uncaring whether or not anyone thought she looked silly, Belle removed the wicker helmet and held it out.  Though she did not smile, she nevertheless felt gratification when the kid thumbed through some coins in his pocket and produced the money for it.  Only a few moments later, he could be seen running through the craft show with the basket on his head, bumping into things occasionally but forgivable in his joy.  Belle slipped the coins into her woven satchel, unconcerned that he hadn't paid the full price.  The woven items were all very cheap.

The fierce afternoon sunbeams and the sudden lack of wind made Belle very comfortable, and as the seconds stretched into minutes it felt to the farm hand like hours.  A few more purchases went through, but nothing notable happened until a cry went up from another stall.  Her eyes barely open, Belle breathed deeply and pulled herself up from the stool.  At an utterly leisurely pace she made her way to Pisco's stand, for his lay just across from hers, meaning that she needn't worry about anything being stolen.  Belle found herself standing in line behind the bear girl from earlier.  The two young women couldn't be more different: where Belle was tall, thin, pale, and introverted, Cia was more normal, more attractive, and more outgoing.  These weren't why Belle resented her, however.  She disliked the extravagance with which Cia acted, using incredible power without deliberation or responsibility—like it was nothing.  Belle waited for Cia to get her extravagant amount of alcohol and then stepped up to Pisco.  “Wine.  One skin.”  It would last her weeks; she never took more than a single sip for the taste.   “Please,” she added, as an afterthought.