Badriya as-Sahra is sick of piling up camel dung and picking people's pockets for a living. Her world discriminates against women and orphans, and it is only her damned luck that she happens to be both. She yearns for more but can't do anything else...
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Klalasha was a feeble spot among feeble spots in the land of bounty, but it was an oasis for its people who couldn't afford to be rich. Even under the scorching sun, the province's bazaar bustled with folk who wanted to buy or sell. Nothing else mattered. In the market, one was either the vendor who hollered prices or the buyer who demanded bargains. But Badriya wasn't any of the two, and never would be. She was one everyone knew but often couldn't catch.
A thief.
Badriya eyed a tall boy standing next to an old lady talking to a silk merchant. His skin and hair were fair like the clouds, which was unusual for a Zecajian. He held a bag over his shoulder. No, not a bag, more like a large piece of cloth tied at the edges, fruits brimmed inside—rare, delicious, juicy fruits. Shiny apples, round oranges, plump grapes. The kid must've got them from a caravan coming from Soom. He seemed to have possessed quite a bag of coin to afford such a commodity from those overpricing snakes. His employer must've paid him a good wage. Lucky him.
And lucky for Badriya, she would get some of it for free.
A rusted knife slid out from her left sleeve, just enough to feel the sharp tip pricking her wrist. Badriya strolled over to the cloth merchant's makeshift tent and pretended to look around. The products displayed ranged from simple muslin and thick wool, to rare leather and fluffy cotton—all dyed with various colors and peculiar patterns. Some were folded neatly, and some were hung around the tent for people to see. Badriya ran her free hand over them, feeling the cloth's smooth and clean texture under her calloused palm. Perhaps the merchant would not mind seeing faint streaks of mud and camel crap on his merchandise.
The woman went on her way, a new silk scarf draped over her arm. Then, it was the boy's turn. Taking a step forward, he pointed a finger to a bundle of brown linen behind the merchant and began to talk prices with him.
The two men were distracted. Now was her time to move.
Badriya puckered her lips. "Nothing fits my tastes here," she muttered. "I should look somewhere else, I suppose."
She walked away, and just as she passed behind the boy, she swiped her knife at his bag.
The cut was made in a breath, but Badriya used her beginner's skill of the blade to make sure the hole looked like it wasn't created intentionally. In no time, fruits came tumbling down the ground. The boy quickly tore away from the merchant and knelt down to collect his precious items.
A couple of beggars in rags ran to the fruits still unpicked nearby. They were stalking around the stalls earlier, waiting for luck to strike. Badriya stood in front of her victim in defense.
Oh no, you don't.
"Go away, you filthy vermin!" she yelled at them. "These fruits are not for you!"
Now exposed, the beggars scrambled away in fear. Hiding the grin forming in her face, Badriya turned to the poor boy and helped him pick the rest of the fruits.
