Reynard watched the market stalls with bated breath, patiently waiting for his chance to strike. He was loitering at the market's edge, partially obscured by shadow, and doing his best to appear conspicuous as he observed his potential targets. It was risky for him to be here again, after yesterday: the guards had almost caught him, and now they knew the face of the man who'd been causing chaos in the market. If they got a hold of him, who knows what they would do - he hadn't been here long, but he'd already heard talk of Casford's heavy-handed punishments.

  His stomach rumbled, as another pang of hunger assaulted him. He'd lost yesterday's haul in his escape, and that meant both he and Anne were getting desperate. They'd turned to theft only as a last resort, as much as it pained them; they had failed to secure work, and even the scraps thrown out by residents were hotly contested by those who were arguably even worse off than they were.

  Casford hadn't proved as hospitable as they had hoped.

  One of the market's guards reached the fish stall farthest from Reynard, right on schedule. Now or never, he thought, and readied himself. He looked toward the crowd, and nodded.

  There was a desperate cry from its depths, "Help! Help!" and sure enough the only other guard was quick to come to Anne's aid. Reynard didn't need to know the details of what she was saying, but her fake tears and feigned distress were working wonders; she led the guard astray, out of the crowd and farther away, leaving the stalls temporarily undefended.

  He made his move and snaked between the bodies of the bustling crowd, working his way towards a grain stall. In particular, he had his eye on the bags of flour that lined its bottom: with one of those, they could make a substantial amount of hardtack. The only other thing they'd need was water, and that was thankfully in abundance. Hardtack wasn't particularly tasty, but it'd keep them fed and it'd stay edible for some time.

  Reynard reached the stall, and smiled at the baker who stood relaxed against one of its wooden supports. The man was intimidating by all accounts - tall, broad, and muscular, with a face that screamed trouble. Reynard was almost more worried of him, than he was of the guards.

  "After anything in particular?" the baker offered, with only the bare minimum of politeness in his voice.

  "In the market for some flour," Reynard replied casually, picking up some of the baked goods and placing them back down after scrutinizing them - for a suspiciously short moment. "The wife's looking to make some bread for me and the kids."

  The baker's eyes narrowed. Shit, might have laid it on a bit thick.

  "Any chance you can do a peck?" Reynard asked, pointing at the large flour bags on the floor. He'd never be able to make it out with one of those - it'd be like carrying around a small child.

  The baker's suspicion didn't falter, but the man silently lifted up one of the large bags regardless, and with casual ease. If he grabs me I'm fucked, Reynard thought, as the surly man began measuring out a much smaller and more portable portion of flour.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He gave a quick glance behind him while the baker was busy, to check the status of the guards. Anne was still working her magic, but the other would be dangerously close soon. He needed to hurry this up.

  Reynard reached for the smaller bag of flour. "How much do I owe you?"

  "Coin first," the baker said, as he laid his iron grip on the bag. Reynard retracted his own hand. "Six pence."

  "No problem," Reynard replied cheerily, and pulled a small coin purse from his pocket. He dropped it purposefully to the floor, with an "Ah shit, sorry," as he knelt down to pick it up. The coin purse was empty, of course, and he instead reached for a hand full of flour from another bag near his feet.

  As Reynard stood, he threw the hand full of flour at the baker's face in a desperate gambit. The Seraph was smiling on him today, it seemed, and the baker recoiled in surprise, leaving the bag wide open. Reynard snatched the small bag on the stall's counter, and ran into the crowd.

  The baker spat flour from his mouth, and wiped his face, leaving smeared handprints across it. He recovered quicker than Reynard had hoped, and let out out a booming shout that drew the attention of most in the market, "Guards, guards! The bastard's nicked my flour!"

  Reynard shoved past the other market-goers, as he dashed towards the other side of the market and towards freedom. The guards were onto him, attracted by the baker's cries, but were too far away to catch up to him. As he left the crowd, he slipped the flour into another bag, swung it over his back, and sprinted into the distance.

  He took a circuitous and confusing path through the town, racing down alleyways and climbing over walls; shortcuts known only by the nefarious. He reached their lodgings in record time, and scrambled hastily through the hole in the wall into the building proper. He collapsed onto the floor, clutching his side and and gasping for air - he'd overexerted himself, but it was worth it.

  He lay there for some time, staring up at the evening sky through the gap in the ceiling, waiting patiently for Anne. It wasn't the the home he wanted to give her, but it was all they had: an abandoned hovel on the very outskirts of the town, walls more mould than anything else. He imagined he was somewhere else - with Anne, of course - cosy and warm, in a house they'd made a home, and prayed to the Seraph that it did not rain again that night.

  The evening turned to night as Reynard waited, and he spent the rest of his time pacing their dilapidated room, waiting for Anne; every footfall outside making him race to the window and peek out. It only increased his worry tenfold, as his mind delved to horrible depths, imagining his sweetheart returning home with a bloodied stump. It didn't seem a fair punishment for survival. Even if the guards hadn't harmed her, the area of Casford they had settled in was notoriously rough, and was just as much of a danger.

  To his delight, Anne did return, crawling through the entry hole without so much as a scratch. He ran over to greet her, wrapping her in a tight hug and kissing her forehead. "Missed you."

  She giggled, and kissed him back. "You got it, then?" she asked.

  Reynard walked over to the other side of the room, and grabbed the bag of flour. He cradled it like a baby, rocking it side to side as he faced her. "Our little bundle of joy is safe and sound. What took you so long?"

  "That baker got himself locked up - hit one of the guards, apparently." Anne said sadly. "Had to give a statement."

  Reynard frowned. He'd probably have found it funny, had he not been involved. His victory had become all the more hollow. "That's a shame."

  She hummed in agreement. "We can't keep doing this. We need to leave."

  "Yeah, yeah. Once we've got the last of what we need, we'll get a move on." He gestured with one arm to their surroundings. "Can't stay in this shithole forever."

  "Where will we go?" Anne questioned, voice small.

  "I don't know. Anywhere's better than here."