We were still in Bildirweight District, the part of the city where Northwood stood, and the street we were walking through was alive with noise from every direction. It was a broad road, wide enough for carts to pass through without forcing pedestrians to squeeze against the edges, and it was lined with shops on nearly every corner.
The blacksmiths' hammers rang out in steady bursts, tailors had mannequins and folded clothes displayed right outside their storefronts, and a small food stall farther down the road was busy with a cook scraping fish bones into a wooden bowl while talking to a customer at the counter.
People moved in all directions, some carrying bags, some hauling goods, some simply walking and talking in groups. Compared to the academy district, this place felt louder, busier, and a lot more alive.
"See the guards?" Ken asked as we walked. "Normally they wouldn't place this many here."
"Yeah," I replied with a shrug. "Probably because of the elf attack."
