Snippet #1812730

Mahdi watched the woman go. She had not asked his name. She had not struck him as an impolite woman, nor unafraid of a stranger. It had been Ileana that had made her nervous. The woman, Ciara, disappeared behind the cover of some nearby vardos. His gaze lingered for a moment. Finally, it drifted back towards the small vardo.

Decided, he strode towards it. With his nose he probed the air freely; with his back to the fires and so few awake he doubted any would see the unusual behaviour. Perhaps young Ciara had been nervous enough to tell stories at the fires. Perhaps the nervousness would spread.

Mahdi quickened his pace.

As he neared the vardo his nose caught something. A strong smell. It was sweet but musty; not dissimilar to the smell of woodsmoke. That smell was behind him, though. This one was before him, and it smelt alive. Vaguely like paprika, he thought. When he reached the vardo he rapped one hand loudly, and rather brusquely, on the doors wooden panels.