Rose stared at the woodwork in her palms. There was no doubt about it—this belonged to her father. However, she was sure this was not something she had seen him make, and it didn't look too old. It must have been made in the past two months.
"You have sharp eyes," the old man who seemed to be the seller finally spoke.
Rose had been oblivious to his presence until he spoke. She jerked a little, lifting her head to look at him. He was pretty old and used a stick to walk. His clothes looked bigger than he was, and he looked like he had just wrapped fabrics around himself rather than wearing clothes.
"Where is this from?" she asked the man.
"Edenville," he said, and scratched his white beard. "It was difficult to get it here, not with the bandits on the way."
