Inspect Window

You approach the window. It is a small, square pane of glass about the size of your face with some cracks in it. It does not fit quite right and lets in a draft on windy days, but you do not mind that. Cut glass is a special thing, and you are thankful to have any at all. A shattered window rarely gets repaired these days if at all. Traders may arrive dragging palettes laden with crystal sheets, but nobody you have ever met could possibly afford a fresh pane.

 

You peer outside. The morning sky is brisk and blue with a tinkle of spring clarity. A gutter of an alley stretches below you, but the fading brick of your neighbor’s wall prevents a view of much else. Iridescent pigeons with shimmering emerald necks huddle and groom on a clothesline to your right.

 

You could not ask for a nicer day for an adventure.