walking down the street you could smell the petrichor. the mist was low tonight, hugging the cobblestone you could just barely see the reflection of the moonlight off the street. the chill in the air was almost rolling from the dirty windows of the stores lining the street. the dim orange of the candles through gritty window frames made the silhouettes of the trinkets in the stores seem almost enticing.
the echo of my boots on the road made it abundantly clear that it was late, I'm not entirely sure what time it is. the constables are doing their patrols so it must be near morning. a constable on horseback strides from behind and slows h