Mazathad-Dra finally reached her satchel after navigating the gauntlet of stomping drunks and leaping onto the shelf. With great care, she gingerly lifted the flap with her paw and checked for her rune. Of course, it was gone. Cursing her luck, she tossed open the satchel and dove in. Septims, food, cloak, her soul gems... all there. With a sigh of relief she emerged from the bag and began reapplying the cantrip. Small sparks of magicka flowed through her paws and into the satchel, etching a small glowing circle of runes onto the satchel. It should stay active for a few more hours.

Content with her handiwork, the Khajiit mage spun around and was met with the steely gaze of an Orc. How long had that person been watching her? Had she seen her casting the spell? Slowly, the cat raised her paw, licked it, and meowed. Maybe if she kept up the act...