[center][h3]Through the Streets of Gilane[/h3][/center]
[hr]
[i]The marketplace, Gilane, 3rd Midyear
Mid afternoon[/i]

The way back to the hotel had proved much quicker than Meg had thought it would. It seemed Zahir had a good eye for memorizing routes and directions. After getting breakfast for herself and for him, she had managed to convince the boy to no longer steal from others. Truthfully, it wasn't the crime that bothered her as much as the idea that he might get hurt. The promise of food seemed to work, thank Mara, for a price though. While the idea of giving someone free food pleased the generous part of her, the more sensible voice in her mind told her that it was best he learned from this age that making money- or in this case earning food- meant you had to work for it. Therefore, the deal was that he would have to be her guide throughout her days in Gilane.

And so Meg once again found herself in the marketplace, this time with paper and pen as she drew a crude map, letting Zahir lead her about the many confusing streets that were now quite crowded with merchants, patrons, tourists and every day folk. She hadn't even been that far from the hotel, but now that she needn't worry about a scrawny little thief running off with her money, she realized there was so much to actually see, enough that her mind could occasionally forget the heat. Exotics fruits and snacks being rivaled by other hawkers who claimed to have even better wares, blacksmiths with their constant noise, stalls and shops selling clothes, restaurants, inns, shadier inns that were probably really brothels and hookah bars in disguise... there was so much to see, and Meg knew it would take a lifetime for her to actually do just that.

"Your eyes are as big as saucers," Zahir pointed out at one junction, prodding Meg in the side, which she reciprocated with a sigh.

"Maybe, but tha's only 'cause there's so bloody much t'see," was her reply. She paused by a vendor of a rather tantalizing looking pastry that was simply oozing with syrup, and her mouth immediately filled with saliva that forced her to swallow. 

"You should buy that," Zahir prompted her, wiping his own mouth as he accidentally drooled. 

"Y'just wan' for yerself," she retorted, quickly moving away from the stall before the owner could convince her that the pastry was needed to complete her life. "I ain' got money t'waste of sweets. I'm just here t'do... what's that word... reconnaisance."

"What?" the boy replied, his expressionless face showing Meg that he didn't get what she said.

"Never min' that, let's keep movin'," was her reply.

And so they continued onward, with Meg mapping out more places. She was quite pleased with her progress, despite the fact that her forehead and neck were damp with sweat, along with the front and back of her tunic. "Let's take a break, eh?" she muttered as she grabbed her hair with one hand, fanning her neck with the other. Her eyes wandered even as she did, following after a family of dwemer, a couple with two children. Once again she was struck by how [i]normal[/i] they looked. The boy, he was just about the same age as Zahir. Would he have to one day wake up to find his mother dead and father taken-

"Why don't you cut your hair?" Zahir's words interrupted her thoughts, and she was grateful for that. "Mother used to have hers really short, almost like mine."

"Y'know, that's a good idea. Wanna show me the way t'someplace that can do jus' that?"

It turned out Zahir [i]could[/i] do just that. Meg couldn't help but be impressed by the way he seemed to easily navigate himself without getting lost. If he'd had any sort of sneakiness or stealth to him, she would have had a hard time catching him earlier in the morning.

"How'd y'know the roads so well?" she asked as he finally slowed down. Up ahead she could see a barber stall, where a man was currently having his beard and mustache trimmed.

"My father," was Zahir's reply, shrugging a little as he looked back at her. "He used to work in the market- he had a fruit cart that he'd push all around the market. When I was old enough, I would go with him too. It was tiring, and I used to hate it, but..." He paused in his steps, shoulders slumping for a split second before he stiffened them. Meg suspected he was trying to be strong, despite how he felt. She could sympathize. The older a person became, the more they forgot that the world was a scary place, and especially for a child who had no one but themself.

"Well, y'did good," she said, hoping to distract him from his dark thoughts. "Me? I'd've been lost in seconds. You're gonna get an extra bun for dinner for gettin' me here so quick."

The wait by the barber wasn't too long, and soon enough Meg was leaning back in the chair. The area was shaded from the sun, the warmth a little more bearable than when she was walking after Zahir. Letting out a sigh, she closed her eyes, half listening to the barber and Zahir as they spoke. Apparently they knew each other from before. Meg couldn't help but smile, reminiscing of when she was small and would have such conversations with her Pa's associates. Of course, they'd all been thieves he'd rather she'd never heard of, but every experience was a precious one to learn from, right?

As she rested in her drowsy state, her mind began to wander, strolling through other memories, traversing from childhood to adulthood in what seemed like hours but was probably only a few seconds. Faces of people she loved, faces of people who were important to her, her friends, her companions, Brynja... Judena and Daro'Vasora... Jaraleet-

Her forehead creased as she thought of the argonian, their conversation from the day before as clear as crystal. It was still hard to process that he could do such a thing, but his explanation to her, whether she liked it or not, had made sense. What did [i]not[/i] make sense was the dwemer dying. She didn't know much about torture, it was true, and she didn't [i]want[/i] to. Could someone die due to what he had done? She didn't know, but the fact that he told her he hadn't killed the dwemer was enough for Meg.

But then... who was it? She knew Calen and Latro had been on that mission as well, and then Raelynn and the Imperial man named Gregor. Her mind instantly rejected Calen from having part in anything so sinister- Jaraleet had mentioned he had been opposed to it anyway. She very much doubted Latro had anything to do with the dwemer's death either- she didn't think that was something Daro'Vasora would let go of easily. That left Raelynn and Gregor, both of whom Meg didn't know much about, despite having been travelling companions for a while. 

[i]Maybe they know somethin'... maybe they're the ones?[/i] It was a dangerous idea, to doubt people from their group, but who else was there besides those four? [i]It can' hurt to ask-[/i]

Once more Zahir's words broke her out of her thoughts. "Miss Meg?" he called, shaking her arm. "Are you sleeping?"

"Just Meg, the 'miss' soun's terrible. An' no, I'm not sleepin'." She sat up straight, bringing her hand to her neck where to her delight she could no longer feel wavy locks pressing against her skin. "Well this feels great!"

"You look weird," the boy commented.

"An' y'look like a snot nosed skeever," Meg replied, scowling at him though it quickly shifted to a grin. "Say what ya wan', I'm feelin' lighter than ever."

Her money pouch was unfortunately feeling a little lighter as well once the duo left the barbershop, leaving Meg with a slight pout to her lips. "I'm gonna havta find a way t'make septims soon," she muttered to herself. It was all well and good, living free for the time being, but what happened if the Poncy Man decided they had overstayed their welcome?

"Why don't you sell that?" Zahir wondered, pointing to the amulet around her neck. "I bet you could make at least a few gold coins out of that!"

Meg looked down at her chest, pausing in her tracks as she contemplated what he said. It was true, she could probably squeeze twenty or so septims out of a merchant for it. It was almost an artifact really, something J'raij had found in a crypt and given to her for safe keeping.

[i]"You will be needing someone to keep you warm one of these days,"[/i] he'd told her jokingly. She hadn't had the courage to tell him that [i]he[/i] was the one she wanted to keep her warm.

"I..." The words were stuck in her throat, so she made a show of coughing on dust so that she could get a hold of her feeling. "I could, aye... but I won'. It's too precious."

Zahir blinked at her, causing her crack a small smile. "T'was given t'me by someone who's not 'round no more. It's like... somethin' to remember him by."

"Oh... like Father kept Mama's ring with him." The understanding on the boy's face was quick to turn to grief, and this time Meg didn't try to distract him.

"Reckon you're right there, kid," she agreed, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing tightly. "Lucky for us, there's somethin' people can' take from us."

"What?" he mumbled.

"Our feelings. Love. Hate." Meg patted at her heart with her free hand. "An' everythin' in between. They're ours, 'less we let people steal it from us."

"Oh..."

"You'll get it someday," she promised, moving her hand from his shoulder. "C'mon, let's get goin'."