The town of Letha was rambunctious and extravagant. The bricks of the road and building were a deep red, perhaps to hide all the blood that was shed there. Every few feet you would come across a seller, desperately competing with those closest to him to get the attention of the shoppers wandering around. To some it was a great place to shop. To Anala it was a great place to steal from the unaware shoppers who, foolishly, carried their money in hand. Like it was expendable. Anala enjoyed their ignorance. It meant more money to use, more food to buy. More days she could go without worrying about starving. She slipped into the crowd and wandered through the shoppers slipping her hand unnoticed into peoples bags. She soon had a handful of white coins. Obols. The money of the dead. They were made of bone, the only abundant resource on jivan. They were painstakingly carved with a picture of a skull on one side and a cross on the other.
