[center][h3]A Thief and his Thoughts[/h3][/center]
[hr]
The trek had been hard going and full of trudging, but sometimes life had to be that way. Alim was no soldier, but he knew that war time meant marching. What was problematic was his back. It was sore everytime he awoke and went to sleep. In fact walking seemed to help it, but he had no flat surface to stretch properly for awhile, and his old injury bothered him a bit. He was amused to think how others would react to he, Athletic and always ready to flip, had an injury in his spine that needed tending to. He'd never announce it unless he had reason to. 

He hadn't had the chance to speak to Anifaire yet even all this time after the Imperial city, he would try to soon. But he was just relieved she had been safe after the Dwemer attack. Same for everyone, he had to admit. For a group, they proved to be about as resourceful as people often though he was, which was a high compliment he expected. Perhaps the nine had plans for them? He hoped. If this was going to end the way he imagined, half would be dead before the next summer, and he would have to bury more companions. 

It was no wonder he sought adventure, riches, and entertainment. The reality of life was grim, as always. Though the Breton in him admired the group's honor and conviction. Despite the underworld of Skaven's best efforts, knightly ordeals still held true in Alim, thief or no. As he contemplated, something caught his eye in the distance, only to realize his gaze had been lead to Raelynn's fine hips swaying extravagantly. He admired her rump for a moment, and then gazed around at the other women traveling with them, speaking to himself aloud (albeit quietly). "How come I have not hit on [i]any[/i] of them yet?" He supposed slaughter, starvation, and hard travel distracted him. But still! 

He remained relatively quiet except for a quip or two as they made it to the gates of Anvil, relaxing as they entered the city. The smell of the sea was a welcome sensation to his senses. It reminded him of his days as a sailor, and where there was a port town, there was fine food, exotic people, and gambling. He could capitalize on all three. As he let the possibilities whirl in his thoughts, Daro'Vasora snapped at Rhea. 

Alim had no real qualms on discontent, and he enjoyed Vasora. He had always felt a certain kinship with Khajiit from his time in Eleswyr. But his hand did stray to the hilt of his sword, more to have it prepared for a bluff than anything. He was behind the group however, out of eyesight. Once the verbal thrashing had been delivered, and the Khajiit walked away, Alim shook his head. Some people could not deal with stress correctly. 

He approached Rhea and patted her shoulder. When she looked at him, he gave a reassuring nod. "I'm with you," he told her simply, and headed off into the crowd to see if he could win at throwing knives with the local gamblers. Turned out, he COULD win at throwing knives, and by Akatosh, what he didn't win, he stole! Until he got hungry, and realized maybe he could find Ani this time. Off he went to the Inn...