The Stepless Thief
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His hair, with a hue to rival the sunset, whipped in the salty breeze as he stepped off the ship and onto the docks of Scara Brae. The sun's scarlet glow angled perfectly at his face, forcing him to shade his eyes and squint while he inspected the ships surrounding him. Almost every sort of ship imaginable filled his view, crewed by fisherman, sell swords, and captains. Urchins ran and jostled through the masses, and salesmen lounged about hawking their wares to potential buyers.
The docks bustled with activity while he made his way towards the City, keeping an eye on sticky-fingered children and menacing looking men. The traveler was tired. He needed a place to lie down and rest. The journey on the ship had left him exhausted and hungry from constant sea-sickness, and his entire body felt irritated by the salt crusted onto his clothing. 'I think I shall be content if I never have to step foot off land again.' Erikar thought, wiping his eyes for what could only be the thousandth time that day. He wove his way through the city-goers, eyes scanning absentmindedly for an Inn. As he searched, noting all the orphans and street rats running about subconsciously, he found his mind drifting back to his own childhood in Radasanth.
The rain came down hard and stinging, but the boy was used to it. The rooftop tiles under his feet were sharp and painful, but the boy was used to it. The hunger in his gut gnawed at him as he watched, but the boy was used to it. He was following his prey, another young boy who he had spotted stealing enough food to satisfy him for at least a day or two. His footsteps were silent and sure, a soft pitter-patter, indistinguishable from the rain hitting the rooftops, trailing the boy. His eyes glowed neon green when he leapt from one building to the next, clearing jumps a grown man would find disastrous. His quarry turned into an alley and hid behind a trash heap, rushing to eat the stolen food. The boy leaped across the space over the street below, missing the rooftop by a scant inch. He caught a windowsill and his eyes glowed once again while he pulled himself up with spiderlike agility. He crept until he was almost directly over the other boy,. Blissfully unaware, his prey was stuffing himself as if it might be his last meal. ‘How appropriate.’ the crimson-haired youth thought. He lowered himself, eyes luminescent, and began to crawl down the wall towards the boy. When he was about ten feet above the other boy, still unaware of the hunter’s presence, he clung to the wall tightly, one-handed, and pulled a hefty rock out of his belt. He readied himself mentally, and clutched the rock with a white-fingered grip. Heart pounding, he pushed himself off the wall and dove at the boy silently. He tackled him to the ground, eliciting screams of fear from the boy, and swung the rock with all the force his arms could muster. It struck the boy in his head, and the screaming stopped. But his instinct had been awakened, and he could not risk letting his prey live for fear of retribution. He swung the rock again, and again, and again until the blood flowed freely. He snatched the other boy’s food out of his limp hand and began to devour it voraciously. The taste of blood and bread mingled disgustingly, but the boy was used to it.
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