The cart was near the end of its day.
Only a handful of loaves remained on the boards, their crusts dark from the oven and dusted with flour that had survived the journey into the street. A few root vegetables sat wrapped beside them, along with several bundles of dried herbs that apparently nobody had wanted. Their scent lingered faintly beneath the smells of cold air, horse dung, and chimney smoke. A chalk mark on the wood listed the price of bread.
The number was higher than Mod would have expected if she'd bothered to look before today.
The woman continued to stay in front of the cart.
The vendor had stopped trying to make a sale some time ago and moved on to protecting what remained. He was waiting for the other person to realize the conversation was already over.
"I told you already," he was saying as Mod and Mab passed by. "Price is what it is."
Mod and Mab stopped near a small crowd.
