Miria was shocked, but not surprised, when the jinni burst into a run. It was not the first time she had seen jinn run from guards, jinn captured by guards, jinn beaten by guards in front of villagers due to their indiscretions. Besides, this jinni's presence had been suspicious from the start. Despite this common occurrence, other merchants still yelled and shook their fists at the guards as they streaked by, irritated about having their customers spooked or protesting just because they could get away with it. Mothers hugged their children to their legs to give the guards more room to move without mowing their children over. Market browsers staggered out of the way and many craned their necks to see what all the fuss was about.

Miria watched the jinni run down an alley, out of sight, surprised that he could still move that fast at such an old age. She grumbled like the rest of them, not wanting to seem out of place, then carried on with her day, all the while wondering what that jinni was being chased for.

Within the hour, the market operated as though nothing had happened. Guards would pass by every so often, their eyes scanning every crevice, corner, and dark space in the square, but no one, including Miria, paid any mind. She had wares to sell; she could not afford to waste her time gossiping about the latest runaway.

The day was long and predictably slow; the last day at a village or town often was. Miria smiled at customers through her growling belly, conversed warmly with passerby through a parched mouth, distracting herself with thoughts of what she would weave while on her way to the next town and how many tapestries she could sell at her next destination. She had no one to relieve her to take a brief break or grab a bite to eat, and the last time she left her stall alone, even for a moment, some of her tapestries had been stolen.

Finally, when the setting sun melted into the horizon line of the western hills and the sky began to darken, Miria began to pack up her things.

Her typical routine was to secure her things in her cart, tend to Raha, then eat at the inn. If she was feeling particularly energetic, she would do a little weaving at her cart. Today was not one of those days. 

With a yawn, she approached her cart, the many bags slung across her shoulders feeling much heavier than they did that morning even though she carried less. Her mind mulled over lost comforts such as a warm bath, preparing her own meal in her own kitchen, and lounging on a chair to listen to the music of traveling musicians. She lifted her gaze to the cart as she prepared to sling her bags inside, pausing with a startling realization that something, or someone, was in it.

Shock and fear gripped Miria first, though she held the urge to run or scream in check with rigid silence. Her gaze locked onto the bulk beneath her canvas, then flickered over to Raha. He glanced over his shoulder at her, casually munching on some hay, not the slightest bit of apprehension in his brown eyes. Raha typically was not so relaxed around strangers.

This did not convince Miria. She shifted her gaze back to the bulk in her cart with a narrowed gaze, crouching slowly to set her bags down as quietly as she could. Then she straightened, slowly lifting one side of her trousers to grab the small dagger strapped to her calf as she did so. Miria did not go anywhere unarmed, though this dagger was her only weapon. She made a point to keep it hidden; potential female customers found a visible weapon intimidating, and male customers saw it as a threat to their masculinity simply because she was a woman. Therefore, she always kept it hidden beneath her clothes, but always within reach. She wasn't an expert wielder -- before tragedy befell her family, she never had reason to learn how to use one, but she had learned the life-saving fundamentals of its use with at least some confidence after years of being a traveling merchant on her own. Now she held the dagger tight in her grip but kept her hands down at her sides. She would rather not use the dagger if she didn't need to, and holding it forward without knowing the situation typically created more tension than necessary.

"Whoever you are, if you leave right now without incident, I will not chase you or send guards after you," Miria announced in a low, firm voice. She assumed another beggar or some kid had taken refuge in her cart. "Make any trouble, and you will find trouble."