Part II

Ruth squirmed in her thin cloak. Her hood heaved around her head, swelling and howling with chilly air. Gritting her teeth, she darted her gloved hand to the cloth and tugged the hem down to her nose.

Ruth hated this part of Eimhàar, the non-stop wind was bloody insufferable. Fuck's sake, it was like being trapped in the trumpet of an ice giant. But she did what she came for.

Selling the dagger hadn't been easy. She had to get rid of it quickly, and it's hard for tieflings to get a fair deal. Or any, for that matter. She managed anyway. One does not simply become the best thief in Eimhàar without business sense. Or a talent for blackmail.

Besides, she couldn't risk going to her usual fences. They knew the other thieves as well, and she couldn't risk them ratting her out to Càilin.

She stopped abruptly at a crossroad, looked up.

A deep shade of red was gradually seeping into the golden sky, like blood in molten gold.

Ruth glanced at the waning sun. An hour to sundown, give or take. She would be back by nightfall.

Briskly she turned left, then left again into a narrow street of meager, wobbly buildings. It looked a bit like two opposite rows of white-tipped matches.

A familiar silhoutte in the distance sent her flattening against a wall.

It was a bulky lad: broad shoulders, short neck, long jaw, decently handsome. Càilin.

The boy no means a gifted thief. His fat, square fingers were awkward and slow, he was too tall to be stealthy, too rowdy to be a middle-man between gangs.

Still, in their small circle of lanky street rats, his bullish strength was greatly admired and respected. Fagin loathed the boy he lost him more money than he was worth, but he had no way to get rid of him without angering the band.

If she gave her boss a reason to get rid of him, perhaps... it was quite suspicious for him to be so far from headquarters at this hour, when everyone else got back. Fagin would be delighted. Or at least, as delighted as that empty shell of a man would ever be. In any case, he'd reward her.

Ruth waited for him to pass her by, then drifted away from the wall as if emerging from a shadowy pond and stalk after him.

He walked eastward. There was no one around, and Ruth's shadow got longer by the second, forcing her to trail more and more behind, sometimes she lost sight of him and had to track his deep footprints in the snow.

Once she let herself be distracted by a noise as she turned and barely avoided puncturing his back twith her horns.

She scrambled back hastily but silent, and waited for him to resume his walk. He didn't.

The thief heard a distinct series of quick muffled scrunches. He was either pacing or shifting his weight from one foot to the other, she thought. Nervous.

WAITING.

Her head wipped around so quick her hood fell from her horns. Street was clear. Her shoulders relaxed.

Well, people might come at any moment. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought.

The thief backed away from Càiling and turned into a narrow street next the same building under which he stopped. She gave one last look to her surrounding. No one in sight, no sound in earshot aside from his pacing or occasional soft muttering. Perfect.

She took out her knife and shoved it between two wooden planks, hoisting herself up to the nearest bump in the wall.

In a flash she was on the roof on her elbows peeking down at the lad.

A lamplighter appeared, and Càilin visibly flinched. The small man payed him no mind whatsoever and skillfully snapped open his ladder, busying himself with the streetlight below Ruth.

The tiefling's cavernous eyes flared, as if someone lit a fire in them. The lamp glowed a bright orange beneath her.

Irked, Ruth ground a knuckle on her closed eyelids, but a muffled clatter of footsteps made her perk her head down again.

A delicate figure rushed through her blurred sight and straight into Càilin's broad arms.

Ruth frowned. She leaned both her elbows on the roof's edge and rubbed her eyes again. This was NOT what she'd been expecting. A shady drug dealer, more like. Cthulu. The governor.

Càilin spun the small girl laughing. She squeaked, giggled. Ever so gently, he put her down, slowly cradling her closer with all the rough tenderness his large paws could offer and probably more.

Ruth saw her burying her face in his chest. He reached up to brush away shiny spots of snow in her dark hair, fondly weaving his stubby fingers through it.

Then, the girl did something amazing.

She looked up (and up!), straight into Ruth's shocked face, and smiled.

The young thief had never seen something like this, never felt this way.

Her eyes were Spring beaming from her a glass prison: a flocks of swallows sweeping over rooftops under clear blue skies, the bright smell of lemons in a field, the playful freshness of a gentle breeze; all those things and more seemed to call to Ruth, drawing her to them like a fish on a hook.

The girl bit her rosy lip, and Càilin leaned down to kiss her.

Ruth's heart lurched in her chest. She found herself reeling, heaving on her back with a hand over her eyes and the other gripping the chilly tiles beneath her.

Her whole body was thrumming with agony as her scattered mind writhed to process this new feeling, diving in a spiral of rattled panic.

She sunk he sharp canines in her palm. The pain grounded her, and she wrestled herself under control. She inhaled deeply, shut her eyes.

It was cold. Snowing, actually. She hadn't noticed. Her cloak's shoulders were caked in fine white powder. She promptly dusted herself off and stood briskly.

Her knees buckled, but her climber's reflexes kicked in and she somehow managed to steady her legs and not fall to her death.

Ruth gaped at the roof's edge once more, her heart flipping erratically like the wings of a caged bird.

Then she whisked around and sprang into a wild run.

She had to lean her weight on HQ's door to open it.

The tiefling laid down wide awake yet exhausted, staring at the dusty ceiling.

"What the HELL was that?"