Huff. Huff. Huff. He really was in great shape, really, but this long run was taking a toll on him. The lithe boy had been running up this stream for an hour and he felt like the next time he lifted a leg, it would kill him, for sure. He groaned and tried not to fall over. Come on, a few more steps! He commanded himself, seeing through bleary eyes the sand bank just a few strides away. It looked nice and comfy from his standpoint. Gasping and grimacing alternately, Tristan forced himself to stagger a few more paces and then collapse with a yelp onto the sand bank, his legs still laying in the cool water. It was summer, indeed, but the water had yet to warm and it felt good on his cramping legs. They hadn't been through this kind of abuse in ages; he needed to work out more often. Or buy a horse.. Tristan smiled, face down in the sand and not caring one bit. Now wouldn't that be nice?

Of course, he would have to sell the nice, pricy necklace he had just stolen. Without the money, he wouldn't have a chance to get even near the kind of steed he would need. That and he'd never ridden a horse in his life. His family had never been able to afford one and no one had ever trusted him with one. Tristan frowned into the sand. Pity.. It was a shame people stop trusting me after their possessions mysteriously start missing. What a shame.. Then he smiled, paused, and made a face. "Ugh... Sand. Yuck!" He got up on his elbows and spat out the offending particles, trying to rid his mouth of the taste. Sand was now plastered to his sweaty skin, dusting his hair and clothing. His legs, from the knees down, were still soaking wet into the creek. He had been running up it in order to avoid pursuit by the lovely men of whom he had just stolen from. It was their lover, who had quite a few suitors, that he had actually taken the pendant from, but that didn't really matter to him.

They were rich enough to afford to get dogs to try and track him down, but he was too smart for them, in his opinion anyway. Tristan had run up the creek, in the opposite way they would expect and had done so for nearly an hour, thoroughly exhausting himself. So now, he was lying facedown on a sand bank and sweating like a freaking pig. This was not going to end well, if he didn't get away the creek soon. Tristan slowly got to his knees and got a better look around himself and, as for as he could tell, he was a good couple of miles away from where he had stolen the jewelry. A small smile darted over his face, grew into a big grin, and then he laughed. Not like a maniac, just like an incredibly smug thief, which he was, of course. Very smug, because he had just stolen enough money to trade in for real money and then spend it on some much needed supplies, and, maybe, a horse. Seeing as he needed one so bad. Grimacing slightly, Tristan forced himself to stand up and groaned as his muscles protested.

"Come on, just across this hill. I can do this!" He promised himself. Tristan took two steps and fell facedown, yet again, in the water. He lifted his head, spat out a mouthful of water, and groaned. "Give. Me. A. Break!" He muttered, wanting to wail like a little kid. He hauled himself forward and stood up, using the hill as a pull-up and then pulled himself up and over it, rolling over to see a Death Hound sitting only a few feet away from him. "Holy freakin' shi-" He bit off the sentence, not wanting to disturb the hound, as she seemed to be sleeping. He got to his feet slowly and, breathing as quietly as he would on a thieving job and turned to leave and go on back to the creek. Waking that Death Hound up was definitely not on his Top Twenty Things to do before he died, since it would probably be the last thing he ever did. Tales made those beasts sound extremely vicious and he had no death wish. Unfortunately for him, he promptly stepped on a twig and the crack echoed like he was in a canyon. Tristan grabbed his head and groaned. Today is sooooo not my day!

OOC; Mind if I join?

Tristan swore to himself, thinking rather randomly that he was lucky he had such an extensive and colorful vocabulary to choose from. It probably comes with having lived with and/or near sailors for half my life. Hmmm, yeah, that's probably where it came from. He thought, rather humorlessly. Seriously, how could you be having a laugh when your death was literally sleeping only a few feet away? He had heard stories, terrible stories about Death Hounds who travelled in huge packs and how they hunted and killed any humans who were infortunate to stray into their paths. If this is the end, I'm gonna kill something. He thought furiously to himself. I just got this necklace! It's like holding a bag full of coins and not being able to spend a dime of them! Dangit! He followed that thought with some more colorful language.

Tristan turned, as quietly as he could, to look at the big animal. It had moved just enough to show that it was awake and it was looking at him, or, sort of.. As far as he could tell, the beast was blind, or maybe its eyes were just defected. Either way, Tristan hoped that would work in his favor. He knew running away wouldn't do much good anyway, because any animal her size could easily outrun him, plus he was exhausted from the run he had just taken. Still panting like a sick dog, Tristan gazed at the beast with worried eyes. He wasn't sure what to do next and he hated being confused or feeling helpless. Neither feeling did much to boost his big ego. Tristan was used to making an instant decision and following it instantly. His mind went like that, working overtime to get him out of bad situations, which he often landed in, being the graceful little thief and pickpocket that he was. It wasn't like he'd never gotten in jail, but he'd always gotten out somehow.

He was a regular little Houdini, yep. When the Death Hound spoke, it made him jump about three feet in the air in surprise, as he had gone so deep into his thoughts. Stupid, stupid! He scolded himself and debated on whether to answer. It would probably be best if he did, so Tristan coughed slightly and answered, "Um, I'm uh, running." Good job improvising, you idiot. He thought with an exasperated sigh. It wasn't like this Death Hound would pity him or anything. He faced the beast and asked quickly, "Um, I would be ever so grateful if you let me just go now. I need to get away fa...st..." His legs gave out and Tristan fell on his butt with an undignifed thump. More than a little disgruntled, he decided to stay there, unless the beast decided to make a surprise move and attack him. Then, he was screwed, basically. But, being the careless kid he was, Tristan wasn't sure he even cared at the moment.

OOC; Not the best, I'm sorry. Would it be okay with you if I brought in some guys who were chasing him or something? A little action?

"Why would you steal such an important item? Didn't you know he would come after it?" The irony was killing him here, as a Death Hound scolded him for stealing. He rubbed his forehead and made a face. This made him feel like he was back home and had just gotten caught. Yeah, of course, I'm ashamed of myself. I ashamed of myself for actually having the indeceny to get caught! He wanted to protest, but kept his mouth shut for a moment, remembering that this was indeed, a Death Hound and she could just feel like eating him and then would do so that very moment, before he could run like the wind to get away. Speaking of which, his legs were too tired and too sore from running upstream for a freaking hour. Tristan wasn't going anywhere fast and the sensation and not being able to run was scary. She was right; his fear was practically tangible and even he could feel it tightening around his throat.

"I stole it so I wouldn't starve!" He quickly told her. It was partly the truth. He'd cash it in, buy enough food for a month and then look around for some more baubles or interesting things to settle his crooked little mind on. "And if I'd known that they'd actually have the skills to follow me, I would've hid!" His protests probably meant nothing to her, but that was of no consequence to him. If she wanted to help him and protect him, then he certainly didn't have a problem with that. But she was a Death Hound, they weren't even supposed to be intelligent! He made another face, glad he was now facing away from her, though Tristan didn't usually care what anyone else saw him do or heard him say. He was a no-care kind of person, period, end of story. But this was a little different. He wasn't sure he wanted to offend the nice doggie who was going to help him get out of this sticky situation, so he kept his faces and mutterings to himself. It was a sign of courtesy that would have made his mother proud, had she been there to see it. Tristan didn't really care for manners or much of anything else, except surviving.

He heard the Death Hound's advice and decided he liked it, somewhat. The boy got to his feet, a little unsteadily, and hurried over a a gravestone and hid behind it. He pulled out his little bag of tricks and got to work. First, he pulled out several needles that he generally used to pop locks and break into houses. Then, he dipped each needle, about halfway, into a vial of poison that he made out of ground leaves. It was a laxative, a sedation, that would give them time to get out of there. It was pretty powerful and the doses he was putting on them would knock the victim out for a good three hours. Smiling to himself, he held each needle between a finger and waited for the evil guys to come. He could face them now that he was armed. Tristan didn't usually use needles to fight with; he was better at hand-to-hand combat, but he was too tired and weary for that. He'd get beaten easily. This was better; it was at long-range and there was less of a chance of him getting bodily harmed.

The first man to appear was short and stocky. He also had a rather pounchy-looking belly that made Tristan snort in amusement from behind his rock. He waited until the man was in range and staring in shock at the Death Hound. Then he turned and fired off one of the needles. It hit the man in the neck with dead accuracy. He jumped and then reached up to feel at the needle that had barely pricked the skin. But that prick was enough. His hand hadn't even reached the needle before he dropped, like a stone and started snoring loudly. Making a face at the noise, which was like a dead giveaway, Tristan left the next man for the lovely Death Hound, saying gracefully, "He's all yours." Just loud enough for her to hear. He then focused on the next man, who was a little too fast for Tristan's liking. Off went another needle and down went another opponent. The boy smiled; he was rather enjoying this kind of fighting! No blood and no having to clean up after himself! This was working out pretty nice for him!


OOC; Feel free to do whatever you want with the attackers. =) I hope that was worth the wait!