The Lost Fox

Chapter Two

In the quiet midday sun, Fang tread lightly across the gravel of the streets of Arekstra, looking back and forth between the stalls of food, items and even just lame ideas. Some were dazzling with sparkles and gems of all sorts; others were dim and dull to the look, and even duller to the ears. The calling of clients from all over the street was repetitive, annoying, and worst of all, plain monotonous. Fang did not enjoy listening to the constant rambling of the vendors, begging for the pedestrians to visit their worn down stock and purchase some overpriced ware that did not deserve recognition from any living soul. The idea of street vending was one all too ridiculous to Fang, but yet he found himself strewn in the crowd of begged customers, unwillingly, to find the sweets that Senkulpa had so much desired the night before.

Disturbed and misplaced in the rabble of the people that flocked the streets that mild afternoon, Fang desperately pushed through to the sides of the road to gasp for breath. He kept his hands tight against his pants, for, at any moment, he knew, a thief would readily nab his money unsuspectedly.

The amount of criminals in Arekstra were uncountable; every minute there was a crime, and constantly people left and entered the merchant filled city. Never had Fang witnessed the resolution of a crime that was committed on these streets - they would always end with a fight, a chase, or nothing at all. Fang did his best to remain neutral, keeping his hands to himself in the presence of a mean spirited person and keeping his own pockets safe from the picking hands of others. In defense, he wore his large coat that covered his entire body including the case of his katana, but even then Fang knew his personal belongings were not completely safe.

Sighing to himself, Fang looked left and right on the side of the road, examining the small stalls of miscellaneous objects that the men leaning over them were advertising with loud voices. Stalls of small pocket knives and drinking cups, of shots of precious metals and jewelry, of small chocolates and finger foods, all lined the edges of the road alive with people looking every which way to the shouting voices. Fang could only imagine that children were lost every day in this crowd, alone in the dangerous roads of the city.

The buildings, Fang noticed, were barely a blessing to those that were fortunate enough to sell wares inside of them; lines of consumers overflowed the building's walls, piled outside onto the street in the mess of those that tried to battle their way from the crowd. It was sheer luck that Fang was able to squeeze through into small pockets of people-less space, regenerating the courage to continue on his quest before reentering the wave of adults. He kept his head low as he shoved, hoping that no blood-boiling idiot would call him out and cause a scene.

It was a long while before he spotted any stall remotely close to containing what he needed for tonight. When he caught sight of the short, bald headed chocolate vendor, he rushed to the table and immediately asked for a price, holding the table's edges for stability against the pushing of the people trying to pass him.

"These chocolate are low priced," the vendor answered indirectly, "especially when compared to other stalls on the street."

"How much?" Fang questioned again.

"Only fifty a piece," the man finally answered.

Fifty dollars per piece? Fang was not surprised - the price of any sugar-filled item in the world today was extremely high due to the rarity of sugar in the lives of many. In this part of the world, sugar was considered rarer than diamonds, and not to be sold in high quantities. Yet, even though Fang understood the extreme rarity of chocolate, he knew that fifty dollars per small bite of chocolate was not worth the shoving that he had done to reach it.