The evening winds were brisk.
His scarf followed their motion, dancing in the air as he walked. His hands were in his pockets, his cold amber eyes cast straight ahead, ignoring the glances and whispers of the people surrounding him.
He was a tall boy, skinny in a way that it was impossible not to notice, and pale. His dark long hair was tied into a ponytail, and yet it was still long enough to follow the wind as it flowed. There was a faint scar on his left eye and a broken lip.
He was a Heathian boy walking the townish streets of Oldracken, which explained the glances and glares the people gave him.
He was dressed in all black, from the tip of his ponytail down to his weary shoes.
But it wasn't just the color he was wearing that was interesting, it was the quality. His clothes were made of expensive myrethian leather, a material that certainly couldn't be afforded by Heathian routs like him.
And then again, as if the myrethian leather wasn't enough. Or the strange paleness and skinniness of his body, or even the audacity to walk amongst the Gentlefolks in a town, the boy curiously had a raven perched on his shoulder like an accomplice... or a pet.
This boy was peculiar, and if there was one thing people disliked, it was someone with peculiar tendencies.
But did he care? No. He had learned not to.
Years of subjugation, oppression, hunger and suffering would do that to an eighteen year old boy. Especially one who had watched his father beheaded and his mother fall to a deadly illness of the sanguine malady.
The hateful looks in the eyes of the Gentlefolks were nothing compared to the antwarks who attacked their small homes back in the Heaths, or the constant drought, or the Hellbenders from The Abyss feasting on the Heathians who were too weak to defend themselves.
Spheris Arnadel had witnessed it all, and had survived it all. Which explained the aura he had with him, and the pain in those sleepy, shadowy eye bags underneath his piercing dark eyes.
His grumbling stomach caused him to stop abruptly, clutching it as he groaned silently. He squeezed his eyes in pain and then continued his walk after the aching had subsided.
He had no money for food, and the powerful smell of different dishes and delicacies filling the air was not doing him any favors.
But then, like a dew-kissed rose blooming in a desolate garden, a blubbery man walked past him. Spheris's eyes moved for the first time to the jingling pouch tied meticulously to the man's belt, and then he closed his eyes, mastering the knot and how he could swiftly untie it.
When he was done, he took a quick glance at the man. He was dressed like a tourist rather than a usual citizen, which meant he wasn't from Oldracken. Gullersville, perhaps. He certainly didn't look like someone from Ido.
Either way, this was good news for Spheris. The man would be long gone by the time he notices the pouch is missing.
So Spheris waited a moment, creating enough of a gap between himself and the tourist. When he felt that there was enough distance, he gently nudged his shoulder, signaling Talon, his raven, to go.
The obedient bird soared into the crowd, gliding past heads and shoulders till it arrived at the tourist man, who had no inkling of what was about to unfold.
Instantly, the raven started perching on his face. Panic seized him, and he let out a startled shriek, frantically attempting to use his hands to shoo away the persistent bird, but it continued its assault.
The scene soon became a spectacle as the man tripped, toppling over a table of cabbages and randils. "Get the hell off me, you stupid bird!" he cried as he tried to get on his feet.
The small crowd watched, gasping as he once again fell and took down with him a barrel of fermented brael. "What is this? Get off me! Leave me alone, devil bird!"
"Talon, so this is where you flew off to!" The tourist heard a soft, masculine voice say.
Talon stopped its onslaught on the man and nestled up on Spheris's hand, who had shown up pretending to be a savior. "I'm sorry about that, sir," Spheris said. "My bird can be a little... untamed sometimes."
He offered the tourist a hand, but the furious man refused indignantly and got up on his own.
"I hope you're okay," Spheris continued.
"You Heathian scum!" the man cried, slapping Spheris as hard as he could with his fat large palm.
The slap sent Spheris flying to the ground, crashing on the already empty barrel of brael and even drawing blood from his nose. "You better learn to tame that vile creature or I will snap it into two with my bare hands like a twig."
Talon must have heard this threat, because it flew into the air immediately, hovering above the premises and avoiding the tourist's bare hands.
However, the tourist seemed to care less about the creature that attacked him and more about the Heathian who offered him help.
He spat on the ground where Spheris lied. "And stay away from the townships! Go back to the Heaths where you belong!"
He regarded Spheris with one more hateful glare and then stomped away. The rest of the crowd followed and all that was left after was Spheris lying on a ground wet with brael and blood leaking out of his nose.
When he looked around and was sure that no more eyes were on him, he pulled out the pouch of callisters from his pocket.
A weak victorious smile stretched beneath his bleeding nose. "Worth it," he whispered.
- ☯ -
Ever since he was ten, Spheris had threaded the streets of all the three towns in the First Wing, pickpocketing and thieving with such heedfulness that he had never been caught.
Never.
He started in Ido which was closest to his thatched house in the Heaths, and then Gullersville before he moved into Oldracken.
It was in Oldracken that Spheris found most of his success, just like he did that evening.
"Twelve silver and thirty bronze callisters," Spheris counted. "Not bad, Tallie. One of our best actually."
The raven replied with a simple flutter of its wings. They were in a dark alley later that evening, hiding away from people so they could count how much was in the pouch they had stolen.
"Yes, you did great. And you deserve a treat," He put the pouch into one of his safe pockets. "We'll go to one of those expensive inns, the ones in darnberry road? We'll eat something nice and then I'll go see mother at the infirmary."
As they prepared to leave, a sound caught Spheris's ears. A sound very silent but loud enough for his agile senses to pick on — the faint squeaking of a shoe.
Spheris turned slowly towards the elusive noise, his eyes narrowing sharply, scanning the shadows as his heart pounded. "Whoever you are, I already know you're there. So you can just come out now."
There was silence for a moment as he waited, and then approaching footsteps could be heard, followed by a very familiar voice of laughter.
Then, very slowly, a silhouette of a tall, muscular, brawny man materialized from the shadows.
"The inns in darnberry road, huh?" the man's voice boomed. "Whoo! That must be a lot of money you stole, little Spheris."
Spheris already knew who it was from the booming, annoying voice. But if there was still any doubt, the silhouette slowly faded away and revealed Dunnam Gurnlak, the former marshall and infamous bounty hunter.