May Noazoth grant me the breath to outpace this man. If not that, then Piospius allow me the ability to outwit him.

Varin skidded disheveled through the streets, Arie complaining in bouncing squawks about the the wild flapping of his cloak, whipping her about from her place in his pocket. This wasn’t his first encounter with these sorts of mercenaries, but it was by far the closest. Fleeing Suthainn was by far the best thing he could have done for himself. It was also the most unabashedly stupid; he should have known he would have been pursued so adamantly. No Drakari in their right mind would let their property up and walk off on them, especially not a general of the Wing. General Aurawan would pay well for the return of his wayward ward in both gold and status. Chalazae may rip him from his graces, if only so I would not be chased so.

He had picked up a few understandings in his previous encounters. For one, the broadly-built mercenaries had difficulty keeping pace with him -- but that mattered little when they had more stamina. For another, they had a very keen sense of smell, which was what allowed them to trace him in the first place.

Varin glanced over his shoulder as he hurtled on, half-expecting to find his pursuer but a few yards behind. None but a curious elf peeking out of her house found his gaze. Disrupting the peace of the quaint town might have disappointed him more if he wasn’t already sweating out adrenaline.

Dancing with the mercenaries was a dangerous game of cat and mouse. They were always the cheaper Claw Castes, searching for something that would make a good tale, that they could use to rack up prestige. Kendrold could afford to meander his way on over, enjoying the thrill of sussing out prey so vulnerable, and so valuable. In all likelihood, it would only a matter of time before Varin found himself too tired to keep running. Then, Kendrold would sniff him out and drag his limp body back to where it belonged; serfdom.

No thank you.

When the opportunity presented itself, Varin grabbed onto a ladder leaning against a shabby house and shot up it. As soon as his feet hit the rusted roof, he grabbed the ladder and hauled it up, hoping to deny access to his hunter. The sounds of pursuit were close behind, all heavy breathing and quick footsteps. Arie cheeped anxiously at the sounds, only to be hushed by a light tap on the head.

Really? Was the mercenary that light on his feet, and that eager to get this over with? Varin shuddered and pressed himself against the house’s blackened chimney. His breath rasped against his throat as he peeked over the edge of the house. If worst came to worst, perhaps he could take out Kendrold by dropping the ladder on his head. The ladder scraped against the tin roofing, poised over the edge and ready for gravity to do it’s work...

...except that the person rounding the corner wasn’t the mercenary.