Barthaew rubbed his head vaguely with one hand, keeping a sound grip on the reins of the cart with his other. There was three months worth of stockplied merchandise--mugs, plates, vases, all manner of pottery--that he'd made for sale, he didn't intend to so much as chip even a bit of it.
Barthaew pulled back on the reins, easing the horses to a stop at the spot where he usually arrayed his wares. Tipping his hat to a woman arranging bushels of healthy-looking vegetables in her space, Barthaew turned and gingerly lifted the first sack out of the back of the cart.
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Barthaew tipped his hood over his eyes to keep the sun out, fighting the urge to dose. The market had barely opened, he'd had barely a browser yet. If he was tired now, he'd never last all day. It probably wasn't wise to have stayed out so long for the party last night, but it had been such a rare occasion, he couldn't resist it.
Turning his shoulderblades inward against the front of the building he was selling in front of, Barthaew lifted his hood again and looked about at the ever-growing crowd.
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