"Juvenile Barbed Lynxes! Oh, you’ve been busy, haven’t you? You’ve been very busy! Step closer, step closer—let me see the haul! A pack of ’em, you say? Three days back? My, my, you must have a steady hand and a quicker blade to peel the pride off a Barbed Lynx! The townsfolk didn’t lie to you, no they did not! Balkas is the name and fair trade is the game!"

The halfling practically jumped out from behind his counter, something Resven realised the man did every time he had business, probably...

"Those spines are tricky things, oh they are—brittle if you don’t treat ’em right, but worth a king’s ransom to the right fletcher! And the hides! Even the young ones have that iridescent sheen, don’t they? Perfect for a rogue’s cloak or a lady’s vanity! You’ve brought them to the right place, friend, the absolute right place! I can move these faster than a greased eel in a waterspout! I’ve got contacts in the capital, people looking for whisker-shards, and tanners who’d sell their own teeth for a fresh juvenile pelt! Let’s get ’em on the counter, let’s get ’em weighed, let’s get you paid! What else you got? Don’t be shy, Balkas has room for it all, be it tooth, tail, or tendon!"

Rubbing his hands together, a sly smile appeared across his face, and he chuckled softly.

With a sigh, Resven pointed to the outside, "A cart is outside."

He had barely spoken when the doorbell rang out, and he realised it was the halfling that disappeared from the shop in a flash of movement.

His body went rigid for a moment, and his eyes narrowed, ’Balkas seems to be quite the character, he must be in Dark Red or possibly even Orange...’

The little man had moved so fast that Resven was unable to see the halfling even move.

When he arrived outside, he found the little man staring wide-eyed at Mestin and carefully scrutinised the man in silence. Something Resven did not think was possible-

"Mercy me... I’d need a ladder just to look you in the eye, wouldn’t I? Of course I would! Just look at the frame on you—like someone took a cliffside and taught it how to walk. Those shoulders... you don’t walk through doors so much as you redefine ’em, don’t you? Aye, you do." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Resven could not be more wrong, for he had not even been able to finish his thoughts when Balkas became all energetic and such, practically running around Mestin in wonder.

"The brow... the heavy set of the jaw... could it be? Old blood? Aye, mountain blood, deep and old, surely. And that copper mane, thick as a winter thicket... haven’t seen its like since the Northreach clans came down the pass. Interesting, very interesting..." the little halfling started to mumble to himself as he gave the man a once-over again.

"And this is?" The deep rumble of Mestin’s voice sounded, pointing his finger at the man who didn’t even reach his waist. His ember-like eyes stared questioningly at Resven.

"Well, this is the merchant, his name is-"

"But where are my manners? Gone with the wind, aye, gone with the wind! Welcome to my humble patch of the world, big man! Balkas Wiseglide at your service—merchant, procurer of the impossible, and your best friend in this town, be sure of it!" The halfling gave a curt bow before standing straight and staring into Mestin’s visage.

"You’ve a presence that makes the very air feel a bit thinner, you do! I’ve got goods for the small, goods for the tall, and for someone like you? Well, I might just have to dig into the special crates! What brings a pillar of the Northreach to my doorstep? Looking for steel? Rations? Or just a bit of conversation with a man who knows the value of a solid shadow?"

"Umm, we’re selling these." Mestin turned and lifted the blanket covering the cart, and from within, organised crates filled with beast materials appeared.

"Oh, so you’re part of this group? A cohesive unit, a brotherhood of steel and shadow, I see it now! Mhmm... very interesting indeed, truly! But enough of my wool-gathering! The sun is moving and there’s coin to be swapped! Well, let’s go back to business then! You’ve got those lynx materials for me, and I’ve got a vault that’s feeling far too heavy! Let’s see what fortunes we can find in those crates!"

The group stood behind Balkas as the little man began his inspection of the materials. They stood in silence and waited for the man to finish.

Balkas spent a long, uncharacteristic moment in silence, his fingers dancing over the chitinous hooks and tracing the jagged bone spurs with a focus that replaced his usual chatter.

He turned a True-Red pelt over, watching the light catch the hardened density of the hide before he finally looked up, his eyes wide and his energy returning in a sudden, breathless rush.

Five hundred silver! Not a copper less, and I’m practically robbing myself at that price, I am! But for a haul this clean? For True-Red materials with the glow still humming in the marrow? I’d be a fool to let you walk out that door!

Twelve juveniles—the ’Light-Red’ crop—good, solid work there! Ten silver for each pelt, and with the hide already coming in so sharp, the tanners will be fighting over ’em! That’s a hundred and twenty right there! Add the tails and spurs at five apiece, the teeth for three, and even that gamey meat for the laborers... that’s two hundred and forty silver for the younglings alone!

But these..."

He paused, his voice dropping to that mysterious, reverent mumble as he touched the Alpha hides.

"These True-Red beauties... seventy-five silver a pelt, easy! Look at that chitin—hard as iron and mutation-resistant, just what the high-ranks crave! And the tails? Thirty silver each for those jagged spurs! They’ve got the glow, they do! Fifteen for the teeth, ten for the heart-meat... that’s another two hundred and sixty!