The chase...
"We do this together. Don't go behind my back executing the plans you have. We do this just once and be out of here." Vakiyv whispered to Shyva, crouched behind him as they observed the activities at the border. Cresce had passed since they moved between places, avoided being caught and gathered enough intelligence to make that day a giant escape. The border was previously quiet, but since the hunt for Shyva, patrolmen and mercenaries have been wound around the axis waiting for them. Liquor bottles in their meaty or scrawny hands, conversing about filthy topics that would turn a regular citizen inside out. Shyva twisted her face with disgust at one of the dwarves talking about how he preferred to swim in his faeces to give him peace of mind.
"Do not voice your disgust, Shyva. One bad move, and we're on the run again. You know how long it took us to have this chance; don't ruin it."
