Winter 15, 510 AV
This was a bad idea, she should have never come here.
"Ahem." The carriage driver coughed, holding out his hand. Hevara looked at his hand for a minute or so before slapping her hand in his and running towards the main streets of Syliras.
"Hey! Get back here, wretch! Come back! Give me my money!" She heard the man shout behind her. She kept running towards the busteling crowd. She rolled her eyes: saying "get back here" to the person running from you is like suggesting that they sacerfice themselves to a journeyman.
Run, run, run, trip, fall, twist arm, cry out in pain. Hevara shook that terrible thought out of her mind.
"Help! She stole my money!" Hevara's eyes widened in fear as the man pointed in her direction. And, yet, as a group of people headed her way she got that familiar rush of adrenaline. She loved it.
Hevara started to laugh, her lips pulling back to reveal her pointed teeth. She looked like a true physcopath.
How would she get away, though? It was broad daylight outside and she had no cloak on. She was suicidal, wasn't she?
Suicidal. Suicidal. She let out another joyful laugh, still running away from the angry crowd now trying to play hero. They were in for a rude awakening when they found out that her money was now in the pocket of a food vendor far away.
