There were upsides to starving, principally the satisfaction of that hunger. This done with a swift set of hands in the middle of a bustling marketplace, a pilfered apple, or tuber, or a cut of meat. Yabona had such a set of hands and such an appetite to appease. She was quick and small, easy for her to duck behind a tall back, melt into a crowd.

She was tucked into an alley, just another wretch crouching with the rats, a war-brat. An orphan nobody wanted to look at. Her black hair was long and matted, her garb coarse and pitted in the typical drab natural colouring of the lower classes, brown, faded from the sun. Across from her she could see a row of food stands, fresh produce, exotic fruits from beyond the sea. Somewhere down the road there was a bakery, she was unfamiliar with the neighbourhood, but the smell told her as much. Made her stomach grumble. She did not like to stay in one place too long, to become noticed, two wards over there was a troop of grocers that knew her by sight. She had been caught stealing from the road three times over. The first time she was let go, the second she received a light hiding, the third a patch of bruises that lasted a week. The last man to catch her made it clear there would be no fourth. The Emperor always needed labourers, even starved little girls would do. Why, a dozen such labourers died daily towards the heart of the city, building the wall around the lake side gardens. So she left for better pastures, and learned her lesson well. No more than one score in any given ward. The capital was a big place. She would grow old before she ran out of places to steal from.

It was not that she was a natural, but she had developed an instinct in these last seven months. They would tell her exactly when to stand, to glide over there to the stands, to reach and place her hand discretely on whatever morsel, and when it was best to run, or to walk away casually. There was something in the face of the man at the stall directly across from her, perhaps it was the slant of his brows, that told her he was a good mark. A good person, too, perhaps. A person that might let her have some less than desirable produce, but it was best not to ask. They might always say no. And when they said yes, often it came with a price. Live with them, work their stalls, warm herself at their fires. She was poor, wretched, without home or love, but at least she was free. She would always be free.

There was a surge in the crowd, and she stood up when she lost sight of the man behind his stall, last seen handing over a sack with a bow and a smile. In a moment she was out of the shade and across the dusty street, sidled up to the stall, half as tall as her, and her instinct lead her true. The grocer was facing the other way, currently haggling with another paying customer. She grabbed a bundle of bright orange fruits, and pivoted, losing herself in the crowd before the man finished his haggling. Her heart beat fast, but her instinct told her to walk slow, to shovel the fruit into her clothing where they accumulated near her makeshift belt, giving her a mottled paunch. A few choice looks from passersby told her to get off the street before a patrol-man could be called. With the way she looked any official would assume she was a thief. They would be correct. She ducked into another alley, nice and narrow and cool. The white washed walls of either house brushing her bony shoulders. Safe. She grinned, fished one of the fruits out from her clothes and sniffed it quizzically. It was spongy, scentless, but the skin was tough. She did not know what it was. She licked it and tasted nothing and frowned. Her instinct was wonderful for theft, but not for selecting what she stole. Perhaps she had stolen the most plain and boring fruit ever to exist. She bit down, and nearly spat it out. It was horrible. Bitter. But she needed to eat, and so she began to chew, grimacing.

Someone laughed.

She spun around, no longer transfixed by the days first, and likely only meal. She had passed beyond the two initial buildings comprising the alley and emerged into a wider lane, a tall fence to her left enclosed a private garden, stone foundation to a rather large building to her right.

“That's not how you eat it.” Someone said, chuckling. “Maybe we should show her?”

There were five of them, arrayed on crates and barrels in the shade. Kids like her, a little older, a little taller, a little tougher. Each as hungry as she, judging by their state of dress, the hollowness of their cheeks, the glint in their eyes. She paused her chewing, glanced behind the way she came and one of them made a show of jumping from his seat, casually, walking to block her way. She cradled the rest of her haul. Six or seven in all. She didn't have a chance to count.

She swallowed slow. The skin was awful, but the juice was wonderful. Soothing. She could feel it fall all the way to her stomach, and with it a little strength, a little morale. “I could share,” she said, and held up her bitten fruit. She smiled.

“There doesn't seem to be enough,” one of the boys said. They were all encroaching on her now.

It made her blood boil, but she kept her smile, false as it was becoming.

Twice she had tried to run with a gang such as this, and it was always the same. The biggest one took everything, and everyone else hung on for scraps. No spine to them, no doubt. But they had the numbers, and so grew bold.

This would be tough to get out from. One behind her, four in front, and those the only places she could flee, she could twist around, kick, run. She might lose some of her haul, they might get it anyway, but it was better than rolling over. Or there was the fence, maybe she could leap up and pull herself over before one of them could get his hands on her. Maybe she could toss the fruit into the air to distract them. Or-

The one behind placed his hand on her shoulder and she reacted without thought. A kick, aimed back and low. He groaned and his hand fell off her shoulder. The other four sprung forward and everything was a mass and tangle of limbs, she screamed, thrashed and somehow wiggled free. She was past them, her bare feet thumping down the alley, her clothes a little more torn. Both hands cradled her stomach so as not to loose the rest of her food. She could not be certain but she thought she had only lost the one in her hands, behind her she could hear them in close pursuit, cursing each other for letting her go. Each distinct voice blaming another, until one, the largest, no doubt, told them all to shut it.

Blood blossomed in her ears, she could hear her heart. Her ragged breath. Her eyes alight with wild animal panic. The alley did not open back up onto a thoroughfare, but rather another dim and cramped space. Left or right it did not matter, and so she dashed left, thoroughly lost with this single turn. She let her feet decided each intersection, and they lead her wrong. No matter which way she turned, how hard she ran, she was stuck in a warren of grimy mismatched walls. Somewhere distant the city bustled, but she could not find precisely where. Nor was she fast enough to lose pursuit. She had just rounded a corner and could hear their foot-falls, close. Towards the end of this particular alley was a greater light, the buildings spaced a touch further, and a stone wall lower than most. A gate too, latched. She ran, dove, barely caught the tip of the wall and careened over.

She hit the ground hard enough for her vision to grow blurry. Grass tickled the nape of her neck, sunlight touched her face. She lay for a moment longer than she should have, trying to gather her self. When she tried to stand she found she could not. She was spent.

She had tried as long as she could.

It was fine. They could take the fruit. They could kick her senseless.

She hadn't rolled over.

She smiled.