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[Azmere]

Azmere was sitting outside his tent with Grey watching the stars slowly communicate in twinkles and flashes. The dog was relaxed and resting his big head on the legs of the Drykas. Things had been getting better. His wounds were healing and his status within the Watch was improving. He hoped that might help smooth some old wounds in the process but it was always too hard to tell without creating a confrontation. Since his last confrontation, the archer had been avoiding the Topaz clan for a whole season. He didn’t feel like getting his eye cut out any time soon.

Azmere was still camped near the Lighthooves. They had always welcomed him when they had extra food prepared and he had always been quick to give them a good portion of his hunts. He was starting to become attached to them and they certainly loved him. Azmere had nearly been killed when he saved their kids but they were all close before that happened. In fact, he had resigned himself to die before returning without the young ones. It wasn’t reflexive until he thought about his cousins and the pirates. The watchman closed his eyes and listened to the world around him just enjoying being alive. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

A crisp movement caused Azmere to stir. He looked around to see Grey standing next to him with tense muscles. Azmere touched his companion but the dog did not respond and simply stared into the darkness. This was unsettling to Azmere who rose silently. The Drykas flexed slightly while stooping to grab his club and then stand to his full height. Grey was still not moving but Azmere noticed a ripple along the dog’s lips. He had nearly growled but had stifled it. This told the novice dog owner that his canine friend’s super sense of smell had detected someone or something. Seeing that Grey was on guard, the watchman slipped into his tent making certain to be absolutely silent. He slipped into his black armor, grabbed his quiver and Vihar then slipped back outside. Azmere touched Grey on the hips and pressed down gently but steadily until the animal sat. The dog did not relax but he understood. Azmere closed his eyes and focused his mind upon his skill and when he opened them again, he could see the color surrounding Grey who, oddly enough, shone with a deep blue light. The watchman was armed and ready; it was time to hunt.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

There were a million eyes on her. She knew it, despite not seeing them. There were the bugs around them - she felt the light touch of their feet against her skin now and then. There were the other critters in the grasses, who she might have hunted on any other night. And there were the eyes of the stars, winking at her as she crept through the city of tents. But, despite all those eyes, she cared about none of them. No one who could or would stop her was watching. That was the important part.

Her eyes scanned her surroundings, glowing strangely to the others. The green and red was a striking contrast, one even Merevaika wasn't used to seeing, despite looking into a pair of red eyes with green sunbursts every day - Beast's eyes. Both had a skill, and it was this skill she was trying to use right now.

There was a buzzing in the air, Merevaika channeling deep inside her to uncover the magic inside her. Everyone had it, she knew that. But only some, like her, could drive inside it, harness it. Some could do it in the way she could - Azmere and Amunet, from what she knew. Others didn't see the paths, but did other things. At this moment, Merevaika knew she was special. Despite the world being against her, she had been chosen. And there was no way she was letting this magic be unused.

The buzzing changed, and as she opened her eyes, the difference was almost shocking. Except it wasn't, because this was almost natural now. The paths winded around her, but most headed towards the tent, like she had expected. The few that didn't passed it by completely, missing the tent. Of course. The ones that had to belong to those that lived in the tent - the ones that spiraled around it, patchy in places but clearly having traveled around a lot - would be asleep. Leaving their items open for her to take them.

Merevaika pushed her hair out of her eyes, breathing away the magic without another though. She placed one foot forward, stepping lightly on her toes before settling on the whole foot. She brought her other foot down in front, moving slowly, sinking low. It was dark, but there was still a chance of someone seeing her. Her clothes were dark too, disguising her in the backdrop of the night. But still. Anything could give her away.

She took another step, hearing the crunch of dry grass under her foot. Cursing under her breath, Merevaika tensed, realising her mistake. Always check the ground, before putting her foot down. Before, not after. Hoping no one was near enough to hear, she continued, but moved her hand to the scimitar at her waist, then to the knife. She only wished she had taken her bow, but that was only good at long distance, and was too large to carry without being cumbersome.

Pressing her fingers against the cloth of the tent, she hesitated, hearing the sound of her own breath incredibly loud. Someone must have heard - surely it was better to get out and try another tent? But Merevaika didn't want to, for some strange reason. It wasn't like this tent had anything special; it had been picked almost by random. It wasn't even like she needed anything specific, not like last time. This time, she was just testing fate.

Well, let fate give her what it wanted. Merevaika was prepared. Spinning, Merevaika drew the scimitar out only slightly, searching the surrounding as best as she could. Only if she was certain that there was no one there she would enter the tent. But she would check first.

[Azmere]

Azmere moved away from his tent very slowly. Bow notched with an arrow and tense but not drawn, he crept about. This was his campsite and that of his neighbors. He was very familiar with where everything was laid out and what would make a good sweeping pattern. His eyes caught trails of color, some faded and most spotty but everything right now seemed to linger near the Lighthooves’ campfire. The archer circle wide moving his body into the taller grasses that hadn’t been trampled or eaten just yet. The cover up to his waist, he moved a bit more at ease. The steadiness of his strides simple made the brushing of his pants sound like the waving of grass in a soft breeze. His magic was giving him very little so he closed his eyes for brief periods of time when he knew the way to enhance his smell and hearing.

Snap.

The sound of a twig being broken made Azmere’s muscles tense. He rushed in the direction and clicked his tongue twice against the back of his teeth. He had Vihar raised and moved with knees bent so that his frame was dropped down and balanced. He swept from side to side with his eyes, bow always pointed in the direction that he was moving. Once he cleared the large pavilion tent, he came into the middle of the campsite. He could hear padded feet moving about as well as the loud sniffing of Grey. Azmere glanced about towards the tents, one by one. He had no idea what to expect but his mind went back to when he was a kid. It was Abednego and Azmere near a small fire and then they were attacked by glassbeaks. Azmere paused his search to stare at the embers in the firepit. He shook his head and looked about the area. He stopped hearing Grey’s noises and moved back towards his own camp to where he last heard those big feet. The watchman’s heart raced. The hunt. The silence. Something was certainly wrong here.

LookySorry it's so short... anything more and I felt like I would be overstepping. Feel free to NPC Grey. Since he was Merevaika's dog, I figure she could convince him to be quiet while she ran off. If that works, great! If not, I'll rewrite it for you.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

Someone was definitely there. There was movement towards her, a rush and the clicking of a tongue. Then behind her - scampering footsteps, of a dog that didn't care to be silent. Merevaika caught her breath, thankful there was no bark, and no bite. Just heavy sniffing and shuffling. Her eyes traced the surrounding, trying to make out figures in the darkness. She spotted the man first: a larger body, a larger target. Merevaika ducked round the tent, no longer moving slowly. The scimitar came out fully, heavy in her hand, waiting. The grass rustled under her feet and she stumbled.

A dog moved from the grasses, pounding towards her. Merevaika turned her body to face it, levelling herself off as she tried to formulate a plan, something, anything. If this dog made any sort of sign to reveal that she was here, she was dead. And she hadn't even stolen anything. But the dog stopped ticks away from her, staring straight at her.

Her heart almost skipped a beat as she realised why. This wasn't just any dog. This was her dog, her Grey. He had grown, developed further into the strong hunting dog she knew he would be. He stood there, tongue out, tail wagging, almost waiting for her to make a move. Merevaika sank to her knee, taking the moment to run her hands over his soft coat again, remind herself what it was like when he was his - when she wasn't alone with a wild dog and a wild horse as a wild woman.

Then she realised what it meant. Grey belonged to Azmere now. The man she had hunted wolves with, strong, fierce, a Watchmen. If anyone had to find her sneaking around, with theft in her mind, it couldn't be him. But if his dog was here... He couldn't be far behind. Merevaika rose quickly, brushing dog hairs off her. There was nowhere to go, and if he thought to search the web... She knew Shahar had been able to see who was around, Azmere could do that too. There was more than that too. The flash of his sunbursts came to mind, and she remembered her thoughts from earlier. He could see the paths too. There was no escape from him.

Yet there had to be. Merevaika tried to think creatively, think of something he wouldn't expect. Then she had it. She could pretend this was her tent. That she lived here. If she was quite, she could sneak into the tent and hide there, long enough for Azmere to past. He wouldn't think to check inside and bother those sleeping there? She hoped not. Bending over again, she spoke almost silently, matching her words with firm signs. "Nothing here. Go. Nothing." Grey stared up at her expectantly, but obeyed, like he always did. It hurt to see him go. But she had no time for emotions, already ducking through the entrance of the tent and rolling onto the floor. She could sense the sleeping figures only paces away, and hoped she didn't wake them. She crouched there, for what seemed like eternity, waiting for noises to alert her that she was safe, or that she wasn't.

As she waited, she found her hands move to the bags. She snatched up the pouched hanging off the side, moving them slowly to hang at her own belt. One felt like money - the other food. The person near her shifted, rolling over. Merevaika held her breath, waiting. Her weapon rested on one knee, ready. Praise the gods if she snuck out of her unnoticed.

[Azmere]

Azmere was sure he had heard something but now there was only the beating of his own heart thundering in his ears. What had broken the stick? Where was Grey? The Watchman’s heart dropped into his stomach and a thump formed in his throat. Without hesitation, Azmere closed his eyes and forced the djed within the exploded stars to come to life and serve his purpose. In a tick, he opened them again to see several paths of djed lingering in and around the tents. The archer focused on the ones lower to the ground. While he had very little way of discerning one from another, time seemed to fade the color and even deteriorate the shape. The freshest ones belonged to his own body, his dog and that of the third form whatever it may be. His bow was ready, arrow set for a quick pop and release. Now all he needed was a target. If someone took it upon themselves to silence Grey they were going to be severely sorry they were ever born.

The big man took his time despite his anxiety. He put one foot down at a time with great caution to roll his boot from heel to toe and never allowing his full mass to rest down until the entire foot had made contact. Weight was then transferred and the process repeated for every single step he took. The benefit of being tall is that his strides covered more ground than most so it didn’t take him long to cross the center of the camp even with his cautious maneuvers. The silence was deafening but less than a chime later a large creature on four legs trotted up with soft pads and blue eyes reflected by the moon. Once he saw this, the man closed his eyes and allowed the discipline buried within them to cool and become dormant. The man’s shoulders sank with an exhale as the stress floated up into the cool night air.

Grey. Adjusting his grip on the weapon to maintain the readiness of his arrow, Azmere squatted down and used his free hand to dig his fingers into the heavy fur around the dog’s neck and ears. Ever the attention hound, the hunter leaned into his master’s hand and even turned his head to the other side in an effort to spread the love. There was a noise like muffled coins, unheard by the Drykas, but the dog’s ear twitched. The big head spun around and stared at a tent off to the side of the main pavilion of the Lighthooves. Azmere was familiar with his neighbors but couldn’t recall who stayed where aside from the ankal and his two wives. A firm hand patted the canine’s head as the archer rose to his full height doing his best to be silent. The hand pushed the dog in the direction that his head had turned before joining back to the bowstring and notched arrow.

The Watchman resumed his slow creep with his gaze bouncing from side to side but always centering back to the canvas in question. As the pair drew nearer, Grey seemed relaxed and calm. Azmere found this to be very strange and paid extra attention to his companion. The initial stalk came about because the dog had heard or smelled something but now he acted as if all was well. The archer wasn’t convinced and leaned down next to the flap. He froze and debated. It might be rude to just peek in and it’s not like he could know what he was seeing. It also would be rude to wake someone for no reason in the middle of the night.

Torn, he debated with himself. While this battle raged in his mind, his eyes lingered on his pet. The dog had sat down on all fours and crawled inches at a time closer to the wall of the tent. He even whimpered once as if wanting to be showered by affection. The levy broke. Azmere had heard that whimper before but Grey wasn’t even looking to the Watchman; he was staring at the tent…behind the curtain. To Azmere’s knowledge, the dog had only known two owners besides himself. That sinking feeling washed over him again. Azmere shrank back a few feet and silently shouldered his bow then replaced the arrow. He lowered himself in a crouch ready to run, wrestle or tackle his quarry.

“Roland Lighthoof. It’s Azmere.” The man whispered loudly with his voice pointed at the untied flap of the tent. “Is everything alright?” There was a stirring inside the tent that sounded like someone rolling over. Azmere raised his volume just a tad. “Lighthoof. It’s Stormblood. We need to talk.” The Watchman’s heart was beating so fast in anticipation that he felt like jumping inside the tent would ease his anxiety. The tactician in him begged for patience. Either the thief was inside and rousing the residents would flush her out or there was no thief and Azere could explain his reasoning in the morning with a peace offering.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

There was shuffling outside the tent now. But how? Surely the calm Grey would have returned to Azmere, and the man would have been satisfied with it all. Merevaika tensed, the new additions to her belt shifting as she did. Had he heard that? He must have - something must have happened. Maybe Grey. The dog had keen ears. But in the end, she had been foolish. It didn't matter how they knew she was hiding in the tent. What mattered was that they knew, and now she had to figure a way to escape. Or she was dead meat. More so than before.

The first thing to figure out was Azmere's plan for getting her. He was a good tactician, she remembered that much. Unlike her plan, of rushing in a shooting the wolves, recklessly, without much thought other than the end goal in mind, he had actually planned, working out the best way to go in. Of course, he would do the same here. Merevaika was twice as dangerous as the wolves. Charging in with her would be even worse. He would try to coax her out, she assumed, where he had space and was ready.

Sure enough, his voice gave away his plan. He called out to the man, who shifted in his sleep, hanging on the thin thread between awake and asleep. It confirmed his identity and his plans - if this Roland woke, Merevaika would be trapped between him and Azmere. Surely Azmere was hoping for this; through this, Merevaika would be forced out, picking one over two. Did he think that she knew who he was? Did he know who she was? Merevaika couldn't be certain. There had to be something she could use to her advantage. She tried to think, but nothing came, her heart almost bursting out of her chest as she focused.

Her eyes moved across the pavilion, searching, considering. There were the sleeping figures, the man still not fully awake. Roland. There were the possessions, bags of clothes, weapons, a yvas or two, cooking equipment. Food. Everything people would expect in a pavilion tent. Nothing that could help her. She could burst out as an elk, but he already knew she could do that. She wouldn't have the element of surprise and that would have been the only reason to use it. He didn't know about her new magic, but she doubted that was surprise him enough.

Then it hit her, hard and clearly. She did have a way to surprise him, something he couldn't have expected. After all, in his eyes, she had always been the baddie. The sleeping figures, however, couldn't know that. Merevaika would bet her life that Azmere would have never been considered the bad guy. So she did, in a matter of speaking.

Her weapon was placed back in its scabbard, then the whole thing slung over her back, as if she couldn't use it, or didn't have time to draw it. She buried her hand under the rugs, finding the dirt underneath and rubbing it over her cheek, in her hair. She tugged at it, forming knots and clumps, before smearing the rest of the mud across her clothes. Then she launched herself at one of the sleeping women frantically, shaking her until she woke up. Her eyes trembled with fright, and Merevaika hoped that the woman was looking into a mirror.

"He's trying to attack me!" she forced out, attempting to make her breathing heavy, her fear noticeable. It wasn't hard - her heart was already pounding, her body already trembling. Surely the reason wouldn't make a difference. "Please, help me! He wants to hurt me!" Her eyes flickered to the tent entrance, waiting for Azmere to arrive. Even if she got one of them on her side, she would have more time to run. The fabric flapped slightly and her heart tensed, fearing it was him. Roland was up, although she couldn't tell what he thought. She tried to avoid his gaze, turning back to his wife. "Please," she moaned again, although her thoughts kept drifting back to her plan. Perhaps it hadn't been the best. Perhaps she would have managed to crawl out the back without Grey hearing her. But she knew inside her she wouldn't have. This was the best plan she had, and there hadn't been time to form a new one. "Please." Her voice was raspy now, genuine. She channelled all the real fear, all the real emotion into it, and something in the eyes of the woman before her clicked. She had been convinced. Good. Merevaika lightened on her feet, preparing to run.

[Azmere]

Azmere stood outside the tent for several ticks and felt as if nothing was happening but then he heard the big body of Roland stir and move around. Good, Azmere thought. Saddened as he was to think of Merevaika as a thief, he had a responsibility to his brethren to see her brought to justice. In truth, the entire thing reminded him of a hunt where he and his grandfather were chasing a pack of wild boars. When they finally caught up with the cluster, there was an old male with tusks so long that they curled outward twice. Asmodeus explained some things to Azmere on that day about how certain creatures have earned the right to roam free even if they interlope from time to time on another creature’s path. The old Stormwarden said ‘The tusks that you’re eyeing as trophies prove that this particular boar deserves our respect.’

Azmere could still see the hand gestures and absent-mindedly mimicked them where he stood. First came the sign for reverence followed by a set that meant royal animal. Though young at the time, Azmere questioned the meaning and had it explained to him that certain creatures in this world will do amazing things. When it’s a person, a god or goddess will bless them with their mark. When it’s an animal, the gods reward the creature with a unique appearance and a long life. Asmodeus went on to say ‘Would you kill a man who has earned the respect of a god?’ Lesson over. Azmere continues to find worth in the teachings of his grandfather even as a grown man and smiled slightly at the memory.

There was something said from inside the tent; a harsh whisper. The archer blinked back into the present and returned his focus to the task at hand. Once more, he went to call out to his neighbor but heard more whispers. Grey turned his head at an angle having also heard the sound. Azmere could not make out the conversation but at least he wasn’t kept waiting. A tired and rather grumpy sounding groan emanated from the big man who had been asleep. His wife studied the dirty and scared woman then shook her husband’s arm.

“Roland!” She hissed. “We need to help this girl!”

The large Drykas sat up and rubbed his face before peering his dark brown gaze from his wife to the woman in his tent and then to the flap. “Hmm?” Azmere heard this and relaxed a bit and straightened into a full stance.

“Roland, it’s Stormblood. We need to talk.” The archer pushed his voice trough a filter that made it firm but soft. Upon hearing this, the patron of the pavilion look around at the two women; his wife trying to brush out the frightened girl’s hair and clothes. He shook his head and fought away sleep.

“Azmere is-“ The speech was interrupted with a yawn. “Azmere saved our children and nearly died doing it. He also lost his strider in the process. I serious doubt,” his eyes went to focus upon his wife’s gaze. “That he would harm this girl.” The misses didn’t seem convinced and Roland harrumphed. “Fine, we’ll sort this out and I’m going back to sleep.” The man got to his feet with just a sirong on. Roland was nearly seven feet tall and half as wide. He bellowed as he stepped through the tent and held the flap open. “We’re coming out Stormblood…this better be worth it or you owe me a meal.”

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

Her plan worked, the woman clearly feeling sorry for her. Continuing the act, or overplaying her fear, Merevaika tried to tremble. Finally, the woman demanded her husband help Merevaika, turning slightly towards the man who was still half asleep. The thief struggled not to smile, tilting her head to hide her expression. She pulled her shirt over her belt, brushing her hand against the bags that hung there as a silent reminder to herself that she had to get out. The man slowly woke, looking from Merevaika to where Azmere stood. From outside, he called again, making his tone firm. Like a member of the Watch - responsible, trustworthy, authority. Merevaika trembled some more, this trembling real. She was so close to being caught, so close to escaping. The wife brushed her clothes and hair, trying to make her look more presentable.

The man almost didn't seem to care, letting yawns interrupt his speech. He was tired - perhaps she should have just run. Grey was still young and she assumed at the other side of the tent. Even if he heard, she would have time. But it was too late, and she told herself it wouldn't have worked. Listening to Roland's explanation, Merevaika's eyes widened at the fact that Azmere had lost his strider, to save their children. That made things more complicated, but at the same time, her thoughts weren't on that. He had had a mighty horse - when had he lost him? Was he gifted with a new strider from the gods, or was he now little more than an outsider? A sharp pain went through her heart as she forced herself not to think of losing her own, returning to the moment. Eryunt would be the one losing her, if she wasn't careful.

Roland wasn't convinced by Merevaika's story, but the woman was, refusing to let it go just like that. So he gave in to sorting it out, standing to an impressive size. If she had to escape him as well - Merevaika didn't know how she would manage. She still had the problem of the trail she would leave behind. Roland stepped through the tent, moving to meet Azmere, and Merevaika seized her chance as soon as he stepped out. She looked at the woman with large, terrified eyes, and pressed her finger against her lips, begging her to remain quiet. Suddenly, she rolled away from the woman's touch, lifting the side of the tent as she moved to duck under. Scared. Leave Azmere, let me go home. Not want him lose respect, just want safety. I go, she signed, hoping the woman would stay quiet just long enough to let her run. She made sure the signs were shaking, fast. Her hands lingered on the last one, looking up with expectant eyes.

Then she pulled herself under, pressing against the grass lightly. She tread forward carefully, and quickly, before she broke into a run, trying to keep her footsteps as soft as possible. Then she didn't care anymore, sprinting forward with determination. She flickered a gaze back, searching the darkness for Azmere or Grey, or anyone. Stumbling a little, she drew her weapon, struggling with the awkward angle. Then she ran again, this time thinking about the paths.

They were hard to follow when they were old - she would have to run a long time, and she wasn't certain that she would outpace him. They were also hard to follow when they twisted and mixed with the paths around them. That was what she had to do. There was no way to stop them, after all. Turning sharply, she dived behind a tent, before wrapping round on herself, continuing with a winding, backtracking path as she moved towards the denser parts of Endrykas. With her mind focused on the steady racing of her heart and pounding of her feet, she focused hard, taking deep breaths until the strange feeling bubbled towards her eyes, the magic seeping through her veins and coating her sight. Slowly and steadily, the paths came into view, almost blinding her with the number. She followed large clumps of them, moving to wherever she could see more, spiralling round and watching her own path become lost amongst many. Perhaps he could track this, but she wasn't certain. Let him try.

[Azmere]

Azmere watched as Roland came out through the canvas flap. The man stood up to his full height then lazily approached the scarred man. Azmere was not one to intimidate easily but Roland definitely fell into the category of men who held the potential to scare the life out of a person. Well, if he didn’t scare a guy, Roland could probably just as easily rip him in two. The watchman looked up to the darkened face and could make out the general expression; agitated. The archer signed an apology then made several more signs explaining the situation while looking around Roland at the pavilion. No one else had come outside yet.

Roland watched the signs and harrumphed. Slowly, the giant turned and kicked at the flap of his pavilion. One could very easily tell that he was not in a good mood. His wife responded to the action with a polite and hushed ‘one moment’. Roland turned back around, looked Azmere in the eye and then sat on the dirt. Azmere was wont to join him but Grey suddenly perked as if something had caught his attention but the dog didn’t move or stand. The canine remained seated and attentive next to his owner. The watchman lifted his right eyebrow at this and realized that his trusty companion would be useless when it came to tracking the pup’s former owner. Another chime went by and then another. Azmere looked around the side of the pavilion but he heard nothing.

Finally, the fairer Lighthoof exited the pavilion with a scowl pointed at Azmere. “You should know better, Stormblood!” She signed many things but the archer could only pick out a few in the dark. One was shameful, another was grandfather and the last was free. The scarred man tilted his head in and to the left.

“What do you mean ‘free’?” He looked down to Roland who stood quickly. He didn’t much care for Azmere’s tone but the giant man turned to his tiny wife with a questioning look.

“I let her go chimes ago. You’ll never find her.” The woman looked triumphant in her decision, folded her arms and nodded at the younger man.

Azmere sighed and patted Roland on his big arm. The warrior relaxed a bit then signed Possessions. Money. Inspect.. The watchman moved one signing an apology for the disturbance. When he stepped around the tent, he stared towards the city’s heart. Merevaika could’ve only gone one way. The archer closed his eyes and called forth the bursts that lay dormant. Colored flares and spikes came to life within the golden and azure orbs. When the lids peeled back, color was everywhere. Patches and swirls intermingled for as far as he could see. The watchman slumped his shoulders and closed his eyes once more. He called for the magic to depart and flee is what it did. When he opened his eyes again, the only twinkling left belonged to the stars in the sky. As he neared his tent, Azmere spoke softly against the wind. “I will find you, huntress…one day, I will.” He slipped back into his tent then snapped his fingers twice. The dog used his nose to push aside the flap and enter the pavilion. Sleep would come to the watchman but only at the price of knowing he had failed.


HeyI am fine with leaving this here. If you want another post, shoot. If not, post it for grades. Always a pleasure, dear.

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

Her heart slowly stopped racing, but her feet didn't, pounding across the plains with determination. Once she was certain that he wouldn't be able to track her, even if he wanted, she turned towards the outskirts, moving behind the tents carefully until she found the direction she wanted to go. Casting a quick look behind her, she waited for a moment, catching her breath. There was no one there, and why would there be? They were all asleep. And she was a two pouches richer.

With all the eyes still watching her, she left the city, boots one in front of the other. She no longer felt the need to run, walking slowly away from the tents towards the distance. To where her tent stood, solitary. Grasses rushed around her, hissing in a light breeze, scratching when she brushed against them. But it was more or less silence.

Her camp was small, the remains of a fire, the few things she had scattered around, mostly lining the edge of the tent. Eryunt rested nearby, Beast slept at the entrance to the tent. Merevaika herself squatted by the ashes, pulling the pouches out to inspect her gains. One pouch was dried meats and berries, gathered at some point, and she ate about half, hands stained a little red from the berries. The other was coins, but she couldn't see them clearly in the dark. A handful, but whether they were gold or copper, it wasn't clear. Shoving them back in, she placed both pouches above the entrance to the tent, hanging them from the fabric. Almost charms, to protect her. More like bait, she didn't know why. To test fate, to test them all.

They wouldn't get her. Ever. Smiling to herself about her prizes, she settled into sleep. That was fun. Her mind flickered to Azmere, before she fell into a deep sleep.