Ivoriel

The air in the Lower Ward was a thick reek of stinging charcoal smoke, heady with the savoury perfume of roasted lamb. Amidst the rhythmic clink-clink-clink of hammers on anvils and the persistent braying of pack donkeys, the glare of whitewashed buildings against the deep azure sky struck the eye with a blinding brilliance. Nearby, merchants haggled with frantic desperation, their voices rising like heat off the paving tiles.