Damian came to an abrupt halt as an old woman and a young girl stepped into his path.
"Young man, please," the old lady pleaded, lifting a basket toward him. "Buy these last few flowers so we may go home."
Damian glanced down at the contents of the basket. The flowers were withered, browning at the edges.
"Sir, we only need a single sheel for all of them," the girl added, her eyes wide and hopeful as she looked up at him.
Damian reached into his pockets, but found nothing. He realized with a jolt of annoyance that he had spent his last remaining coins on the hat he was currently wearing to mask his identity.
"Forgive me," Damian said. "But I have no money left with me."
"Not even one sheel, sir?" the girl whispered, her hope flickering out.
He checked again, digging deeper into the seams of his merchant's coat until his nail caught on a cold, thin edge. He pulled it out a sheel. Without a second thought, he pressed the coin into the girl's small palm.
