He gestured to the bolt of fine cloth that lay between them on the counter, in the center of the trading post's one dingy, cluttered room. “Why, this was woven for a noble lord in the city of Palanthas itself. It's worth twice what you're offering me. Nay, thrice!” Matya watched the trader calculatingly with her bright brown eyes. She could always tell when she was about to best Belek in the driving of a bargain, for his nose invariably would begin to twitch. “If the doth is so fine, why did the noble lord for whom it was made not buy it?” Matya asked pointedly. Belek mumbled some excuse, but Matya waved it away with a ring-covered hand. “You may take my offer or leave it, Belek. You'll not get so much as a bent nail more.” The trader sighed, a look of dismay on his haggard face. “You're determined to drive me out of business, aren't you, Matya?” His bulbous nose gave a violent twitch.
