Downtime

The village was too quiet for someone like Sueno. No haggling Sueno lay beneath a lonely tree at the edge of a quiet village, pipe between his lips, smoke curling into the yellow sky. His white shirt shimmered in the sun, belts loosened. Scaled legs stretched through the grass, claws tracing idle lines in the dirt as his tail flicked, restless even in peace. For once, no coins clinked, no spells hissed only wind and the faint hum of insects. He exhaled slow, watching the smoke twist and vanish, the smell of tobacco mixing with dry straw. “Don’t get used to it, brujo,” he murmured, a grin ghosting across his face. “Peace never lasts.” The breeze caught his words and carried them away, leaving only silence, and the faint shimmer of scales beneath the fading light.