Back and forth over his fingers, he rolled the ring as he strolled casually down through the markets of Limsa Lominsa. He enjoyed the taste of salt in the air, the hustle and bustle of the people going about their daily business. But better than anything was the smell of something freshly baked wafting over towards the Miqo’te, drawing him in. And the ring made it’s path continuously over his fingers, a nervous habit, before he curled up his hand, slipping it back onto the ring finger of his right hand just as he slipped past the stand with the fresh bread and pies. Quick as a flash, his hand slipped out and a loaf of bread slid into the satchel at the side.
For about three steps, N'klas thought he’d gotten away with it, unable to stop the small grin that spread at the corner of his lips. But then his ears perked up at the rush of footsteps behind him and he shot off, one hand pressed protectively against his satchel. Someone was shouting after him, the merchant presumably, and he ducked around and behind people and stands, ears twitching at the cries of ’thief!’ and ‘get back here, kid!’
The young Miqo’te couldn’t ignore the light feeling in his chest, nearly making him laugh out loud as he swerved awkwardly past a pair heading towards him, just missing barreling into them with a stumbling twist. He enjoyed the chase just as much as he did not wish to be caught. And the boy (nearly 17 now), though a little clumsy at times, was quick on his feet. He was little more than a pale blur with his drab clothes, silvery hair and fur and skin that was just a bit darker.
