[WP] Street performer,the girl and the stray dog.

...

The large dog sat quietly in the moonlight as it watched me from its great height, the likes of which dwarfed my own- even when standing on a wooden bench beside the rented stables. As my lights twirled and spun, their passing illuminations shown across teeth, pale like cold stone left to bleach in the sun of an arctic circle, and gums which were deep red. A color that hinted a taste for living flesh not long before.

As I danced with pitiful and clumsy reluctance, I knew it It was well and good then, that I had it on reliable reference all this monstrous beast had consumed in the recent hours was turnip and onion soup.

Headlamp blinking on my forehead, I danced with rough stomps spinning a stick with both flashlights attached, twirling like a marching band baton behind a small cup painfully lacking in manner of coin. Much as I wanted to fault my props and companions, I knew a rough looking bearded man dancing was probably not the most effective manner of attracting good-faith and charity.

Beside me, the easiest on the eyes of our rough and motley crew clapped along, singing to the music of the car radio playing behind me, bowing politely to an elderly couple that dropped a few spare coins into the cup before my outrageous offense to the arts. It pained me that we'd come so low.

There had been a drafting of the Church doctrine among the cities and towns of Doterra. Everywhere the bells and towers might sing, young men were lining up for enlistment, knowing with complete faith that each could make as much as two Gold a season: Presumably for standing along a walltop and looking fierce at black dirt and dying Western trees.

Exciting as this all was, it meant that the money came from whatever revenue sources drove this medieval economy, and though I lacked a full comprehension of a master and scholar of the subject, I could plainly feel the effects. The coin for the soldiers was taken from the same bucket of Gold which once provided Adventurers their bounties and work. From up and coming, to destitute: I cursed the day I paid Jarl Congrad's loan off early while banking on the next contract.

"Dance on Jake!" Sola's encouragement came with the pleasant and chipper melody of a wooden flute, carved from some odd variation of local fauna that I thought resembled maple- though without the syrup. As she piped the song, I spun the bit of wood and lights about, jumping and stepping along the wooden bench beneath the full moon among the clouds.

The dog simply grinned and rocked, head bobbing with the music- much to the amusement of the children that passed us by. Little faces and large eyes stared in wonder at the massive hound, tugging at their parent's arms with glee while their tiny hands and fingers pointed.

Small change clinked happily to the beat of my stomping feet as the lights continued their noble efforts and rotating arcs. As an audience gathered, I knew it was time to unleash my most serious of techniques.

Leaping from the bench, I grabbed at the headlamp, pulling it free with a practiced "click" of its button, fixing the glow to a steady pulse as I began to twirl it overhead in widening circles and spirals of the night. Slowly, I let the thin rope I'd tied early slip along my grip, letting it spread out in a massive run: A pattern of white halo reaching above my head.

As I did, the large hound leap onto the bench with a mighty huff, Sola prancing after it with Elfish-grace to land balanced upon its back, fingers still nimble along the carved flute of wood as the melody quickened.

Applause came from that, as I continued my rough routine below, lights spinning and crossing with abandon as more coins flowed into our tiny cup. The colors of bronze and copper mingled with the occasional flash of silver, as the final verse came to pass, and I palmed the lights suddenly: Sola leaping overhead with a floush of acrobatic touches and flips, landing with her arms spread wide.

Our final applause came with woops and cheers, faces of joy and smiles from many of those with clapping hands. An ovation that I soaked within my chest, warmed with a feeling of satisfaction rarely achieved in the recent days. Times were always harsh, always loud or terrifying: There were monsters, mysteries, and Dark powers abound, but here in this city there were people as I remembered them. For a moment I could almost forget the uncertainty and fear the haunted my thoughts, but soon the warmth of our applause was ended; silenced by the solemn ring of church bells.

As the sound of thick bronze filled the air, the oppressive nature of its soulful tones pushed away all else, as smiles fade, and feet tread their separate ways. The moments passed, just as they always seem to do, and soon it was yet again a set of three:

A street performer, an Elf, and a large shaggy hound in the moonlight.