The sounds of fiddles, accordions and laughter filled the small camp outside of the city. The gypsies had come the day before, and were getting prepared for market day, which was tomorrow morning. The men and children played and drunk, talking and telling stories, while their women baked pies and cakes, and the girls knitted scarves. Jean-Sal watched them work from the fireside, drinking from his bottle of cheaply made cider and tapping his foot to the music.

His own fiddle was in its embroided case at his feet, though he didn't feel much like playing. They had had a rough travel from Persi to Vespar, running into blizzards on the plains and bandits in the forests, losing a few children to illness and men to the bandits. His own brother had to be laid to rest in a forest, a place where no one would see his grave and remember his name. Despite all the tragedy, the gypsies played and sung and danced, and Jean-Sal would join them - after a few more drinks.

He looked up at the clear night sky and smiled, humming a simple tune to himself. The stars were beautiful tonight, and they made the darkness of space look like it was decorated with many thousands of diamonds. His gaze slid down from the sky and landed on the massive buildings that was Vespar. It looked like it was raining inside the walls of the city, and he grinned to himself. The rich folk that ran the weather machines were missing out on the stars. Maybe they were afraid of them? Many city folk were afraid of whatever might be outside their artificial walls. Jean-Sal couldn't imagine living life like that.

"Sally! Sally! Give us a song, please?" some children begged him as they approached the fire. The boys wore pants and coats, while the girls were dressed in colourful silk dresses. He smiled at them, putting the bottle of cider down and picking up his fiddle out of its case. Made of the finest wood, it had been made and given to him by his father for his 16th birthday. He prized it and the case his mother had made for him more than anything in the world. He found his bow and played for the children, a simple folk song that they all knew. The girls danced while the boys hopped up and down to the music, and Jean-Sal closed his eyes and smiled, feeling at peace. How could the people live enclosed in the city? He just never understood it.

Once he finished, he winked at the kids and set his fiddle back into its case, picking the bottle of cider back up as the children ran over to another fiddle player. He remembered his childhood, climbing trees and playing in the mud. His many sisters and brothers had been his friends. Now it seemed he was the only Kilek left in this tribe. His brothers had been killed, or had married women in cities. His sisters were all married with children, either to other gypsy tribes or in cities. He was often asked when he was going to settle down and get married, but he usually laughed it off. He had no time to think of such boring things.

As he glanced back over to the city, he noticed a few people exiting the gates, coming to party with the gypsies. Mostly poor people with nothing much else to do, the sneaked from their homes at night to drink and dance, and to listen to the gypsies stories. He was glad to see them brave the outside and offered one a drink of his cider, who gratefully took it. The older man looked like he hadn't eaten well in a few weeks and Jean-Sal felt sorry for him. How could a place as rich and big as Vespar be so cruel to the needy? He directed the man to where their food was laid out on a table. They liked to share with outsiders, and anyone that wanted to party could join in any time they wanted. As long as you had a good time, you were welcome in the camp.