....the young sneakthief flew a generous six feet from the heave the gangly old weaver gave him before fetching up against the base of a bench. "Dont believe it, I dont!" rumbled the old man, his skinny seven feet towering over the lad folded on the ground. "Work a solid four hours on that hanging, using some of the finest wool I have! And then you, ruffian, try making off with it in moments, what took me time and care!" The old man hauls the youth roughly to his feet and pulls him around, nose to nose. "Goddess help me, you...you.." His command of common tongue fails him in his anger and he sputters in the tongue of his native land, "hralitze. Now, I'll not call the watch this time. But if I hear of you even looking sideways at an apple in a cart in this marketplace, you'll have me to fear, and the watch be damned, eh?" He nods to set the young man doing the same, and as soon as he is convinced that the message is sunk in, he sends the youth down the lane with a boot to the tail and a call of, "Now off with ya!"

Grunting in satisfaction at another foiled theft, Josip makes his way back over to his loom, glacing around at his finished products to make sure all are still in place. The stall is hung with a number of different tapestries, capes, cloaks, curtains, and other forms of textile, all woven by the proprietor with the utmost care. He sits, lights his pipe, and sets back to work. Customers come and go, and the weaver pauses in his work to show them and discuss various things. In this, it seems less that he is trying to turn a huge profit and instead merely has the stall for some company and discussion. Most of the time, however, it is the man himself, with nothing but the clack and rustle of his loom and the aromatic smoke of his pipe wafting out to join the hubbub of the busy marketplace.