“Her na’s Yoran.”
A beautiful na, Yoran, like a graceful orchid. But it wasn’t a na you’d usually give to a child. Still, I couldn’t think of anything better to call her at the mont.
“Yoran.”
Yoran and I sat outside the gambling hall, watching gamblers scatter and curious onlookers gather to gawk at the commotion.
I kept my mouth shut.
Because I wasn’t in good shape, there was a high chance I’d end up killing soone needlessly in front of Yoran. So I stayed quiet and waited.
Before long, both the Lecher and the Drunk showed up at the entrance, covered in blood, glaring at the bystanders.
While the Drunk wiped his blood-soaked shoes on the ground, the Lecher barked at the onlookers.
“...Get lost before I kill every single one of you. You think this is a show?”
I looked up at them from where I sat.
“You two hurt?”
The Lecher replied.
“No way. Nothing happened.”
The Drunk didn’t say a word.
Then they plopped down beside and started regulating their breath, eyes fixed on the dispersing crowd. The sll of blood wafted into my nose—couldn’t be helped. The Lecher had only a few tears in his clothes from glancing blows, but the Drunk had internal injuries even before this fight, so he looked a little worse for wear.
The Lecher turned to ask,
“What’s the kid’s na?”
I answered for her.
“She goes by Yoran.”
Suddenly, the Drunk extended his hand and called out to a young woman in the crowd.
“You there. Co over here.”
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