Echoes of the Lost Voice

The Khajiit Thief

She closed her eyes and breathed as quietly as she could, while the steps kept coming closer.

"Anyone up there?" asked the gruff voice from the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm on it!" snapped the other one, then added with a mutter, "Fool, takes me for a damn seer."

Shadya squeezed her right paw into a tight fist in front of her muzzle. She could feel the claws itching to come out, felt the instinct to attack—to go straight for the soft, vulnerable flesh in the neck, in the eyes. To protect herself; to kill, if need be.

In her left paw she squeezed the embellished hilt of the strange dagger. It felt wrong. Like most of her kind, she'd never quite gotten the hang of fighting with Mannish and Merish weapons. Seemed impersonal, somehow. Why use an external tool when Azurah in her wisdom had seen it fit to equip you with natural weapons of your very own?

The crunch of sand underneath the heel of the approaching man's boot quickened her heartbeat. In her mind's eye she was already tearing out his throat. She could do it, no doubt, but do it carelessly and raise an alarm, and escaping the manor would just become that much more difficult.

She slowed down her breathing, felt about in the recesses of her body and mind, connected with the residue of Skooma still running in her veins, could still feel its calming effect. A little tweak, almost a quasi-conscious act of manipulating her circulatory system, and the effect of the blessed substance was felt once more. Her heartbeat slowed down, the trepidation subsided.

Shadya opened her eyes, feeling considerably calmer. She took the short bladed weapon in her hand and stuffed it into her satchel. The thing, her loot, would do her no favors here.

The man was now right behind the wall she was pressed against. He halted there. She could sense his warmth, feel the beating of his heart. His musky, unbathed scent in her nose was as clear as day. A very rotten day, at that. His breath was hard and raspy, smelling of brandy.

She held her breath, as the man moved again. The fist still in front her face slowly unclenched. The man moved into the doorway, blocking the light. Right next to her now, she was looking at his large-nosed profile. Her claws inched out, and she cocked the paw back. A wrong move, a turn of the head in her direction so that he saw her there, and it would be the last thing his eyes ever registered.

Shadya tensed up her body, prepared for it. She could feel her tail trying to start wagging like it had a will of its own, but she kept it under control.

The man sniffed in contempt. "Bullcrap!" he grunted. "There's no one here." Then he spun around—toward his left, thank Rajhin!—and started to walk back.

Shadya slowly let out a breath of relief, retracting her claws. The end of her tail fell on the floor behind her, relaxed.

Immediately after, a thought took form within her galvanized mind. She sprung out of the room and ran after the man.

Her feet themselves made no sound delectable by average human ears. She didn't have any footwear on, and her paws on the floorboards were smooth like velvet on velvet. What little sound there was from the groaning of the boards was drowned out by the noise from the man's walking.

Incredibly clamorous creatures they were!

She was quick on her paws, and soon was right at the man's heels. He remained totally clueless to her presence. She felt the tingle of satisfaction as her eyes picked up what she was hoping to see. A key chain, hanging on the man's belt. A large ring holding keys of varying sizes.

Adjusting the rhythm of her steps with the man's, she reached out her hand. The keys were swaying back and forth as he walked. Shadya stuck her finger through the ring just as they were swinging back, and gave a quick pluck. The chain came right off. She halted in her tracks.