Picker scowled and picked himself up off the ground. His pride had been damaged, and he was more than angry. Although he usually appeared cool and collected, when something did not go his way, he'd be like a raging fire tearing through a forest.

He glanced at his daggers which had streaks of blood along the blade. He had done no real damage, unlike what Riser had done to his back. He could feel the stabs of pain and the blood trickling out of the wound and down his back, unseen stains collecting on his black clothes. His dark hair stuck to his face, irritating him even further.

He hated to lose.

"Picky, Picky," cooed the taunting voice of Hotfoot. Picker felt like baring his teeth at the boy like a rabid dog preparing to strike. He raised his head, hair falling before his black eyes which were dancing with fury, only to see the boy leaning back against the wall of the building across from him, arms lazily displayed at his sides while he flexed the claws of his gloves threateningly.

"You can turn around and run like the chicken-shit you are, or you can stay and challenge me one on one, without Riser here," Hotfoot continued, his voice still as cocky as ever. His ponytail was falling out considerably now, brushing against the back of his neck and his forehead. "I assure you, I'd win, though. Just to warn you. You probably wouldn't want to get any more hurt than you are. Your back's gonna hurt for weeks."

Picker scowled. Did the boy ever shut up?

He straightened himself so he was no longer slouching in pain and ignored the protesting cuts on his back. He rolled his shoulders back and picked up his two daggers which were resting on the ground beside him. His pride would not let him run. Instead, he slowly advanced on the thief who's smile was provoking him onwards, while the heels of his boots dug into the dirt and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Silly guy," snickered Hotfoot. He casually pushed himself off the wall and tapped his claws together, creating a metallic sound for not even a second.

"Shut up and fight me," Picker snarled. His voice came out cold and rigid yet fiery with untamed anger etched within it. Hotfoot smiled back, then pounced with a cry. Instantly, upon reaction, Picker stepped to the side, narrowly missing Hotfoot's attack. He jabbed sideways and was pleased to hear Hotfoot gasp in what he assumed was pain. He turned to see the boy crouching, holding his stomach and biting his lower lip.

"That was easy," Picker sneered down at the wounded boy. Suddenly, Hotfoot jumped up, throwing his hands forwards to slash at Picker. Picker narrowly missed the claws that were just an inch from his face. He choked slightly in surprise and uttered a soft cough when Hotfoot once again crouched. When their eyes met, Picker noticed that Hotfoot wasn't looking so cocky anymore. His eyes were burning with fierceness and pain. Picker took the time to inspect the wound he had inflicted upon the younger thief.

It wasn't as bad as he had thought. It wasn't deep at all, just bleeding considerably. Picker assumed it wasn't as bad as it looked, since Hotfoot wasn't screaming in pain and crying out for his mommy.

"Hotfoot," Picker arched his eyebrows, suddenly going back to his cool and collected mode as he straightened, then leaned back a little, raising his hands so the palm was facing upwards while shrugging, "Give up. It is over already."

Hotfoot sneered nastily back, then pounced again. Picker easily slid over to the side once again, but this time, Hotfoot had expected it. He turned, whirling his left hand towards Picker. Picker gasped sharply when he felt the skin on his side tear while his blood splattered onto the dirt ground beside him, narrow crimson lines forming on the dirt. He scowled and lunged at Hotfoot, ignoring the pain in his back and side, and swiped at him determinedly with his daggers. Hotfoot held up his claws to stop the daggers from hurting him. While Picker was occupied, Hotfoot attempted to kick at him, but Picker hastily stepped back, then swiped again.

"I am going to get her back, you know," Picker said through clenched teeth as Hotfoot jumped away from his flying daggers. He continued to rage on attacks, slashing blindly and wildly, his patience dying and his temper already loose.

"Not if I can help it," Hotfoot snapped back. Picker just scowled.

"Get out of my way, you worthless scum," Picker hissed, "I have got better things to do than play sword with your ass."

"You'll have to beat me before I leave you alo–" As soon as the words were uttered, Picker had Hotfoot down on the ground, both daggers held firmly over Hotfoot's neck.

Picker smiled sweetly, then hissed, "I win." Before Hotfoot could react, he had already hit the back of one of his daggers over his head. He smiled and straightened, eyes never leaving Hotfoot's now closed ones. He backed off, then gave a mocking bow to the unconscious thief, gracefully extending his arms to his side, and with them, the two daggers. He then tucked the daggers on the strap that clung to his hips and turned, kicking dirt up at Hotfoot in the process, and strode down the alley.

~*~*~

Kyra slowly opened her eyes, feeling a strange breeze on her stomach, arms, and legs. She wasn't used to this. Usually, she wore long, flowing dresses that covered her stomach, arms, and legs.

What happened to her dress?

Slowly, she raised herself into a sitting position and almost choked when she saw that her dress was not a dress any longer. Everything came back at her like ice cold water being slapped on her. She closed her eyes and groaned, falling back on the bed and almost smoking her head on the dash board in the process. Squealing quietly to herself in disbelief, she raised her hands to her hair and ran them through it, not knowing what to do.

"Are we frustrated?" came a familiar voice from her left. Kyra slowly opened one eye to glare at the boy sitting on a bed next to her, his brown hair falling over the bandana strapped across his forehead while his gray eyes were completely focused on her so intensely that she felt a little uncomfortable. It was Riser.

He slowly got up, off the bed, taking his time and moving as lean as a cat, thus practically forcing Kyra to involuntarily let her eyes travel along his curves. Kyra was surprised that she hadn't noticed earlier just how lean this boy was, even though he looked very athletic, also.

"I'm glad you decided to join our little gang," he suddenly spoke, his meaningly husky voice startling her even though she had known he was going to say something. She scowled at him.

"I didn't *join* your little—"

"*Kyra*," he suddenly barked. For the second time, he frightened her because of his peculiar mood swings. One minute he was acting like her best friend, then next he was barking at her. "Quit complaining. I saved your ass from being one of those thieves, I gave you a place to sleep, I'm getting my little brother to make you something to eat, *and* I'm offering to train you in the art of thievery so you can survive in the desert!" He paused to glare at her, but when he saw her perplexed expression, he smiled at her as if to calm her. He placed his hand on the top of her head and warmly said, "I'm sure you're hungry. As I mentioned, Nimble's making you some breakfast. Come on."

Kyra didn't know what to say. His hand was still on her head and she absently looked up at it, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. He followed her eyes and his smile grew into a grin. He began to roughly rub the top of her head and she ducked upon instinct. He continued to grin as he attempted to rub her head again, but she ducked too quickly for him and slapped his hand away.

"What are you doing?"

"Playing?" Riser said innocently, straightening slightly. "Now come on, you need to eat."

Kyra didn't protest when he grabbed her hand and pulled her up. She hesitantly walked behind him through the room.

"Are you the... leader?" she asked, for some reason nervous. She could tell that he was a laid back person ... with incredibly mood swings. But she could also tell that he was trying to make her feel more comfortable, but she just felt so edgy around him.

"I guess so," Riser shrugged loosely as he opened the door. He stopped in the frame and turned around, eyes directly on Kyra. She blinked back at him, suddenly feeling self-conscious. She could tell he was inspecting her.

"Uh..." Kyra uttered out dumbly, flushing slightly, "Hi?"

Riser frowned at her, then turned away and walked out the door. Kyra followed. He led her into the dining room (she remembered where it was from when Moro had pointed it out to her) and gestured for her to sit wherever. She took a random seat and he immediately sat beside her, turning his chair so he could face her easier. She gave him a strange look. Was he going to eat over his lap? That wasn't proper at all.

Wait. He was thief.

Kyra shook her head and looked away from him, down at the empty table. She assumed this thief, who Riser had mentioned was his brother, was still making the food.

"What are we eating?" Kyra asked in a low, uncertain voice.

"I'm not sure," Riser said offhandedly, "Most of us ate already, except you. I decided to let you and a few others sleep in an extra few hours since you looked so tired. Besides, you probably haven't slept for a while." He leaned back in his chair, resting his boots on the legs of Kyra's chair. He glanced up and a grin crossed his lips, "Ah. Speaking of the few others..."

Three thieves, including Hotfoot and Moro, wandered into the room. All of them watched Kyra the whole time as they took their seats. Hotfoot was still angry that he had lost to Picker so easily. He had woken up in the middle of the night in the alley, surprised he hadn't been robbed, especially since he had been so vulnerable while unconscious. He had also lost a considerable amount of blood, but nothing serious.

"This is Hotfoot, who you have already met," Riser said nonchalantly, waving a lazy hand through the air as a gesture towards Hotfoot, "He took quite a beating yesterday." He paused to frown. "Speaking of which... how is your wound?"

Hotfoot scowled and glanced down at his side. "Fine," he mumbled, then looked away. Riser smiled sympathetically, then looked at the second thief.

"This is Fox," Riser said, then looked at Moro with a small smile, "Moro's older brother."

"And the reason I was captured," Moro said under his breath as he looked down at the table, pretending to be interested in the pattern etched on it. However, Fox heard him and looked down at his younger brother with fury in his jade green eyes.

"It isn't *my* fault you were stupid enough to go to town at night *alone*!" Fox snapped. Kyra took the time to examine his features. His jade green eyes radiated disdain, and Kyra assumed that it was permanent. He had black hair identical to Moro's; it was easy to tell that these two were related.

"*You're* the reason I went out in the first place!" Moro shot back, tearing his eyes away from the table to set them upon his brother, "If you weren't such a—"

"Moro, Fox!" Riser suddenly barked. Kyra glanced wearily at him. Back to his oh-so-present mood swings. "Shut up," he continued, shooting a glace at Kyra. "Make some good impressions, will you?"

Fox slowly turned, his eyes falling on Kyra. Kyra could see the obvious dislike in his features; how his eyes hardened and his nose wrinkled slightly.

"A girl," he scoffed, then looked away. "A spoiled rich little girl."

"She's so young," Hotfoot added. "How old is she?"

Riser furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Kyra more closely. "She doesn't look *that* young." He paused and narrowed his eyes at her. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," Kyra replied uncomfortably. The thieves all looked at each other with raised eyebrows, except Moro, who seemed not very surprised at this news. Just at that moment, a door on the far side of the room burst open, revealing a young thief carrying a crowd of plates full of food in his hands. Kyra had to admit, she was impressed at his skill of balancing the plates. A bandana occupied his forehead, much the same way as Riser's did, keeping his chestnut colored hair away from his eyes.

"Morning all," he said chirpily. Kyra liked him already, whoever he was.

"This is my little brother," Riser announced, seeing Kyra's curious look. Kyra glanced at him, nodded, then went back to watching the thief as he carried the plates to the table and set them down, wiping his forehead off with a cloth he pulled out of his baggy shirt afterwards. "His name is Nimble," Riser continued with a smile. Kyra could hear the pride in his voice. "He makes us the food from time to time. He's a great cook."

Kyra nodded absently when Nimble smiled at her; a little shyly. He then began sliding the plates along the table. Now Kyra was able to see just what was on the plates. Some strange food that she had never seen before. She had never eaten food from the desert in her life.

"Mostly tree leaves," Riser said to her, noticing her hesitant expression. "Edible. Taste rather dry without the sap to go along with them, but we're all out." He frowned and glanced at Fox. "Speaking of which, I need you and a few others to get some sap tonight. Is that alright?"

"Sure," Fox nodded offhandedly..

"You eat leaves," Kyra said dully.

"Well, sure. And some of the animals around here. Sand animals. We don't eat the meat for breakfast though." Riser picked up a leaf and held it out in front of him. "Although, you are like... a rich girl, aren't you? Or, you *were*, rather. Most Revered Ones around here don't eat meat."

"I eat it," Kyra said with a shrug.

"I see," Riser paused, then arched his head back and dropped the leaf in his mouth. He swallowed after a moment and looked back down at Kyra. "Light but filling. Quite strange why these leaves are edible. I mean, I feel like an animal every time I eat them."

Once Nimble was finished setting down the plates, he took a seat beside his brother and shyly began to eat. Riser glanced at him, subconsciously smiled fondly, then went back to eating. Kyra's opinion on Riser just heightened when she saw that. He obviously loved his brother a lot.

She glanced at Fox and Moro. Moro was unhappily playing with his food while Fox was scowling at him and shaking his head.

Thieves were so interesting.

_

A/N: Whoa. It took me more than a month to update. Major apologies, I had almost everything written in this chapter weeks ago; I just had writer's block smack me in the face and steal my pants before I could get the last part written v.v; It still turned out weak. Oh well. Again, apologies for the delay. Plus the motivation for this story kind of dropped a little. It's coming back, though. Slowly.

Thank-you Newchance, Dorin, Empyreal Melody, and PadfootsMoonEyedMate for reviewing. I heart you all.