Rezkin selected a soft green scarf that reminded him of the pale green tunic she had been wearing last night when they met. He was halfway back to the inn when he realized he had not gotten a scarf for Tam. He was perplexed as to why he had not even thought of it when he purchased the scarf for Frisha. He decided Tam would just have to figure something out for himself.

For the rest of the way back, Rezkin decided to practice some of his City Stalking Skills. Taking care not to be seen, he scaled walls, jumped gates, and slinked across rooftops. He took a wide, circuitous route so that he could get a little more practice. While he had trained extensively all over the fort and the few outbuildings, this was the first time he actually had the opportunity to put these Skills to use in a city. He found that it felt liberating to traverse the city over the rooftops. Not used to the almost overwhelming confines of overcrowded streets and towering structures, he felt some of the tension in his shoulders slip away with the openness of the rooftops.

He slipped over a balcony railing and down into a darkening alley before stepping back into the main thoroughfare. The few vendors along this street were pressing their wares with more intensity as the final light of day faded. Several crates were stacked at the mouth of an alley to his right. He heard the hiss of frantic whispers when someone warned, “No, Ash. Not that one!” It was unfortunate for these people that they had not learned that whispers often carry further than quietly spoken words.

Rezkin’s hand swept out and snatched the grubby little fingers that were reaching for his purse. Without slowing his stride, he hauled the young small-man into the alley and rounded on his comrades, effectively blocking their escape. The eldest small-man looked to have perhaps eleven years, although the undernourished body may have hidden a few. The second was a couple of years younger, while the third, still squirming in Rezkin’s grip, was closer to six.

“Your Skills are practiced but still poor,” the warrior said.

“Let me go!” the youngest yelled as he attempted to kick Rezkin in the shin.

“Silence,” Rezkin ordered with an icy glare. The young one whimpered but ceased his struggling as tears began streaming down his cheeks.

Rezkin turned his attention to the older two and said, “Even if the young one had not been caught on his own, the two of you gave him away. You are not Skilled enough to be placed in a supervisory role.”

“You don’t know nothing!” shouted the eldest. “If it’d been me, you wouldn’t never know’d I was there.” His dirty brown hair barely hid soft hazel eyes too filled with anger.

“What is your name?” Rezkin asked.