It was a few minutes to midnight closing of the stalls in the market. Traders were bustling out of the square and towards the tavern, but there were some who would be long gone by morning. These were the traders that Kyran enjoyed heckling the most.
He carried all of his belongings in a little bag and held it in his mouth. Normally, he wouldn't subject himself to so much begging, but he'd had not much to eat.
He had gone through the carts one by one under the guise of a lonely bat cat looking for food and coin for his master, a master that didn't exist. Each time he managed to buy their sympathy with the use of his glamour, and with the sign reading "for Master" racked hastily onto the front of the bag.
As he picked up his bag to run, he had forgotten to look where he was going, and there came a painful crunch.
His leg was trapped beneath the wheel of a cart, and he meowed and meowed in pain. He was not going to blow his cover, and it really fucking hurt.
The cart stopped after rolling slightly off his broken leg. Kyran wondered what kind of person would do such a thing. He laid there in pain and mewled weakly as he realized that he was about to find out.
