Ollie wandered past the windows of Arcagen square. As usual, the people behind the glass watched her pass before returning to their rotating mandalas and bundled herbs. Ollie kept walking, both too poor and too proud to do anything about the open unfriendly stares.
The evening air was dense with dust kicked up by horses and wagons. Merchants hollered at each other, all trying to get inside the trade hub before the gate closed for the night. Those condemned by the setting sun were shut out, denied the stiff drinks, hearty meals, and smiling company promised in the square’s taverns.
Unlike everyone trying to get in, Ollie watched the gate and the distant black hills hungrily. If her plans went belly, she didn’t want a contingent of holier-than-thous knowing who to chase. So, she waited, watching the flow of outsiders into her dusty haunt and occasionally flirting with a shiny something in a window.
Opportunity came quickly when a wagon wheel hit a bad spot and cracked, pitching its contents to the side. Knowing she couldn’t contrive anything better, Ollie stepped into the surge of the street as chaos ensued around the fallen wagon. Not ten minutes after, she was out on the wastes with the desert night burning her nose. The hills beckoned. Her fortune lay out there, just beyond the abandoned railroad in the pitch. Ollie promised herself that once she got back, they’d prudently keep their unfriendly stares to her back.
I am terribly late, but I wrote to Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle Prompt.