Four lines of prose about: the gypsies.
A small bit of cheating today, as we get to write on a group of people rather than an individual. I really haven't clarified how this group will work in the story yet, but I know they'll be relatively important.
Two more countdown days and then the writing begins!
Last market of the season tomorrow. Thank goodness. Here's hoping the final day will be a good one.
The family sat huddled around the struggling campfire, which cast ominous shadows over their dark faces and gave a red glow to their nearby wagon. The man, tall and thin, played a soft, lilting tune on a wooden flute while the woman nursed the baby and stirred the rabbit stew warming in the pot above the fire.
Gerald sat watching them from behind a tree, unsure if it was safe to approach, but hunger urging him to take the risk.
"Come join us before you collapse from starvation," the man suddenly called out, never taking his eyes from the flames, then carried on with his playing as though he'd never stopped.