Money
My boots drag on the sand slower and slower the farther I walk. The combined heat of the sun and the bodies surrounding me makes me feel faint and rather claustrophobic. And the press of bodies never ends.
And then, among all the various body odors, I scent what vaguely smells like food.
My stomach joins the fray with severe hunger pangs.
The transportation spell has unexpectedly sapped so much out of me, and now my body demands replenishment most ardently.
I cannot help it. I follow my nose.
Midgardians – mostly children with their elders or parents – stand in a single, snaking file before what looks like a kiosk shaded by a colourful, flimsy roof. Other Midgardians stand in the same manner before neighbouring kiosks. And the kiosks themselves seem to provide different things, judging from the various items that people walking away from them bear in their hands.
Hesitantly, I position myself at the end of the file that stands before a drink-providing kiosk. – As much as I wish to eat, I need to hydrate myself more. Maybe a glass of sweet mead can solve both problems.
I have nothing to buy it with, however, nor to get it.