( She flinches, nearly imperceptibly, but there. On her shoulder, the serpent twines protectively to collar her throat, its bright scale-slick head nudging her cheek, as if to give her peace. She eases into it, not ungrateful. )

You ask so many questions, with such scrutiny. I did not know... you did not say I was speaking with a man of the watch. ( One of the many milling the village, known by the red of their broad sashes. Security tolerated by the Hok-Shinn. )

I have done nothing wrong. We have done nothing wrong. We are only here to share what little we have with those in need.

( Her ragged basket of goods, her scant coin, the food within. She appesrs to give it all gladly, to the grateful murmurs of the beggars, waiting. They speak her name all across the village — it costs her little to speak it now. )

I am Hyang-tai.