It was late afternoon, and the purple cast of the sky had deepened, yet still shone bright and warm. The thoroughfare was busier now, the crowds seeming ever more exotic to Jay Wulf’s gaze. There were hulking men and women in great overcoats, their trailing ends yellowed with dust; diminutive chittering creatures, covered in hair, with rusting shoulder plates and ugly muskets strapped to their backs; a fellow Rathian (also covered in skin patterns) who ignored his eye; a figure that seemed like a walking shadow, as black as the night, with a domed head and four obsidian orbs for eyes. There
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