Thank you. A second shattering cry echoed down the dark hallway.

That was the vase in the foyer, thought Ryleth.

If breaking the windowhead and stirred the residence from their slumber, surely this second

closer sound would make its way up the narrow stairs to the bedchamber, and revealed that this

home was being robbed. Next came the whispers, strange mix of river and hill slang, half-ling

vernacular, and gibberish. Three voices, two masculine, one feminine, trying so hard to keep quiet

that they circled back

around to a normal volume, arguing with each other.

One of the masculine voices, a gravely but friendly voice, sounded to be the leader, and the

least clumsy.

Rylith couldn't hear movements to go along with his voice, and it was likely this fellow

would have been much more successful without his companions.

Unconsciously, he recalled Abelor admonishing him from years ago.

Shadowhands were in pairs, in unison with one another.

If we are to be partners, I need to trust that the left will not get in the way of the right.

Amputation is so unpleasant.

This thief needs an emergency procedure.

Ooh, look at this one! The other masculine voice called out and hushed common.

If the glass and porcelain hadn't stirred the master of the house, then there'd be little hope of staying hidden now. Fortunately for the thieves, he won't be able to disturb their clumsy

larceny.

Rylith made sure of that just moments ago when he dropped the poison across the sleeping man's lips. A particularly nasty blend that Rylith always felt conflicted about deploying.

The liquid cinches the skin, causing a short, searing pain that snaps that inflicted to attention.

...