Letting myself look the other way

Levent Kartal · 07-14-2012, 09:46 AM

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The dreadlocked woman didn’t seem afraid, which was good; Levent was not used to inspiring fear in others, anyway, what with his scrawny frame and stupid smile. It would do d’Arte no favors to drive off potential customers even through just making her suspicious, and he kept his stance as open and amiable as he could, making it obvious he had no weapons to his name save those every wolf was born with. His tongue could be a bit of a weapon, too, often piercing weak spots and drawing out secrets—but now it was ready to do its true job, talking up a storm and trading. His heart felt light at going back to his old trade, and he realized how much he’d missed it as he prepared to answer questions and make offers.

A curious glance was thrown to the birds at her feet, and Levent realized he was not familiar enough with the species to greet them in their own language. They looked something like pheasants, something like cuckoos, and he gave up trying to identify them, to his frustration. Besides, the animals he had to focus on now were the parade of cats now caught up around his ankles; he scooped up a few of the kittens in his arms, greeting them with mews of amusement and admonition, and eventually managed to free his friend’s tail from their grip. As the young cats sat back down at his feet, he let Wilson up on his old place on the luperci’s shoulder.

“We have just about anything you’d want,” Levent told the stranger after this little act, grinning. “Livestock, herbs, and supplies for art and writing mostly.” He knew there were too many specifics to list, and if she wanted something in particular, she could ask for it. Hell, he might even be able to make a personal trade later if the pack didn’t currently have the goods she needed. God knew he needed to get back on the road again, although that might be delayed considering the circumstances at home.

“I,” the Turk said with a flourish, “am Levent Kartal of Cercatori d’Arte. Tanıştığımıza memnun oldum, Grace.” He grinned and rose from his stooping bow, which Wilson had somehow managed to ride out. “This is my companion, Wilson, and these kittens”—he gestured to them in another grand sweeping motion—“are up for trade if you’d like.” He saw their curious eyes widen as the woman reached out with her hand, and he added a little meow to encourage them. A black male, a bit bolder than the rest, strode up to her and gave her hand a sniff before his tail shot up happily; he rubbed his cheek against her fingers.

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