Traders from out a Boot

Yileka solemn, starring, tea stirring “what's wrong my tea biscuit?” asks Koythor, avoiding eye contact she says “I don't know... it's not you or me... it's here”. He approaches Yileka from behind, reacting over her shoulder. This arm, warm like a blanket her neck took a rest.

“I know my tea biscuit and I've a cure... I know you've been wanting to hear more then my claps and slapping. We will go to a market dominated by, how should I say... extensions of the hand!“. Eyes widening she finally meets his gaze and then back down to her tea “your hands are fine and what lovely sounds they make, it's just...” I can't describe that which I have yet to hear, can I? Yet it seems like we can both feel it.

Before I looked up again Koythor was already laced and coated “well are you coming?”.
And as one became two me and Sir were saddled on pigs and trotting away, fields green and yellow, the air warm and still and a beautiful overcast sky of light grey.

...

The chorus of voices both beautiful and agonising was given way by, only to the delightful cries of customers passing the loud and high traders. The smells of polished wood and leather and rubber, the various cords measured all around, not unlike a scented fog.

A sudden booming left one corner of novice floggees and floggers a tangle, shocked embarrassed and still shaking, the noise continues. How loud this flogger could sing, with a voice like iron, so thunderous that it could break some misfortunate bones. Surely he will sell well ahead of any other. But so far all who passed kept hands over ears, hurdling along at pace.

Quieter and quieter this brass flogger grew until unheard. Everyone fell silent, wondering, worried that something has gone wrong. Then, he broke down into a cry of loneliness and rejection sounding like a rattle of metals. All stood to listen and commented at their astonishment, such sensual sensitivity for one so hard and large. Unanimously feeling the embrace and comfort of his cries, in everyone’s eyes his chains had turned from lethal weapons to the restraints that would encourage monsters to kiss and hug and make love.

...

Yileka was still eager to find the instrument that both she and Koythor could enjoy. Something not too small for his big hands and not too loud or high pitched my sensitive ears. “Maybe this one, big and hairy, like you :p but wirey thin strands and smells like horses”. No maybe not, it sounds like hundreds of mice scratching away. “Here's another that smells like horse, but it's nothing like the other” it sounds promising, a voice not to loud but able to be both deep and high enough.

Why is my Koythor looking at me like that? ... worry took hold of me and got my heart thumping “how about this one?” and before I knew it he'd pinned me to the floor “Nooo that one smells like a cow!” but he gave it a go anyway. It was harsh and shouting, I was soon in tears and feeling very sorry for myself. He seemed so happy I couldn't help but smile and then as I feared he bagged up that horrible cow to bring home.

I finally heard it, a smell like dear, singing a sweet tune a little like the horse but better. And that was the end of our outing.