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One evening, a weary traveler named Kael arrived at her stall, his boots heavy with the dust of a dozen planets. He had lost his spark, his curiosity replaced by a dull grey fatigue. Zora smiled, her hands a blur as she tossed a shimmering wrap onto a plate.

"One Pakishowzip," she whispered. "For the man who has forgotten how to run."

Kael left the stall not walking, but sprinting toward his next adventure, the taste of the Pakishowzip still dancing on his tongue.