The murmur of voices, the raucous laughter, the clatter of boots on cobblestones and whetstones on weapons. It was morning in Andeave, and it was as if nothing had changed. The sight which awaited Matteo at the plaza near the Silver Moon office was no different than what had greeted them seven days ago when they’d first descended from the Order walls. The adventurers, the wild men, the warriors-- there were not too many when Matteo first arrived, slipping cautiously around a building and scanning the other early risers for a familiar face. Ash. Aoi. Muu. Maybe even Old Bear. 

[i]It’s strange to be out in the open again,[/i] the curly-haired boy thought, unconsciously hugging tight to the wall as he stopped to take his bearings. It had been a vague hope that he might meet the others here, that they would all be unconsciously drawn back to the place they’d first gathered. Without anything so fortuitous, Matteo would have to regroup. [i]Or should I be calling myself  ‘Mop’ now?[/i] he thought, recalling his good-humored acceptance of the Thief name on the last day of his training. It was no more glamorous than Bat, or Seaweed, or any of the other shifty monikers he’d come to know. 

'Seaweed' had been his mentor. Thinking about the last seven days spent with the merciless Thief, Matteo’s opinion was still wildly polarized. [i]It has to be some kind of Stockholm Syndrome,[/i] he thought wryly--she’d simultaneously been his worst enemy and his only friend down in the tunnels; the only person who treated him with kindness and the one who caused him the most pain. He felt his fists tighten reflexively-- the systematic daily torture had been brutal, but necessary. Thieves had to work through pain and under pressure. They had to be agile. They had to be flexible.

With his eyesight like it was, Matteo couldn’t always react to a threat as fast as he needed to-- at least not until it was so close that it was too late. It was better to avoid trouble to begin with. That was why they’d taught him Cat Walk. More than stealing, more than poisons (one incident had left him vomiting for a full day) more than throwing knives and lethal close combat, Matteo had learned how to wiggle out of a bad situation. Whether that was escaping and hiding from Seaweed during their demented games of cat-and-mouse in the tunnels, or slipping his bindings in a tank of water, or popping his shoulders out of their sockets in order to squeeze through a space no human should ever fit through… [i]Well, let’s just say if I ever get caught in a mob like what happened with Old Bear again, I’ll find a way out.[/i] 

Resting in the shadow of the low wall, Matteo rocked back on his heels and sniffed the air longingly. His stomach growled. It was still too early for the marketplace to be selling roast meat or other street food-- even if they’d been open, Matteo had no money to spare. His diet of alternately cold and warm porridge over the last week would just have to be enough to keep him going for now. [i]I wonder if any of the others have funds left over,[/i] he thought. The Thief’s Guild had the lowest entrance fee of all the guilds (after his punishing experience, Matteo now knew why) but it had still taken everything the dark-haired trainee had. 

Eventually, unlikely as it was, fortuitous circumstances united them once again. Each acquaintance he’d made before his guild training eventually showed up, drawn to the increasingly crowded plaza in search of familiar faces. Matteo’s eyes were drawn to the ‘bounty’ board, little more than a rectangular blur in his vision, and made up his mind to ask about it once the last of them had gathered. [b]“It’s good to see everyone again,”[/b] he said mildly, reflecting on the subtle differences in each of them since last time they’d met. Some had new weapons. Some had new injuries. Some had new lines on their face, or a new mark on their palm. Matteo let out his breath, giving a sheepish smile. [b]“I hope everything went well.”[/b]