steals something from the thief

The raucous festival was alive around him, bodies thrusting together as each vied for a closer look at the cards and the bonfires.  There is music in the air – too loud for Azrael’s liking, but never-the-less a welcome distraction as he hums fortunes to patrons who approach him.  They called him a magician – but it is more than tricks that the stallion of stardust and light can offer.  The stars provided far more lucrative answers than slight of hand tricks and white birds being pulled from a hat.  He could read the cards too, like any star-shed had been taught to do… but more alluring was his preaching of the future, as it was told by the night sky itself.

You there – care for a fortune or a whispered truth from a star scryer?  His question is harmless, his answers based more on the power of observation than anything, as he watched the crowd for signs of what they seeked.  Some wished for love, he knew – others, for peace and stability.  There were some which watched the festival with hungry eyes, seeking debauchery and losing themselves to the magic of the night.  He told them what they wanted to hear – simple truths which they were too unaware to realize for themselves… and each had left a happy customer.

As the night wore on, Azrael grew a bit tired, a bit less sharp.  Perhaps this is how he’d missed the slippery fingered thief.  As he turns to rub his lips against the smooth obelisk on his chest, he finds it suspiciously absent.  The stone was more than a mere trinket to the boy – for each shed-star was given one at birth from their true mother – the only remnant he had of her.  Pain, an emotion he seldom allowed himself to feel, sank into his mind, sharp and swift.  Bowing gracefully to his patrons, the nebula stallion wound his way through the tents, his sea-green eyes hot with frustration, as he searched the ground for signs of his beloved pendant.

He strayed from the din of the festival, into the dark alleyways, guided by a strange sensation that pricked at the back of his neck.  Something told him to follow the winding pathways, until at last a twinkling glow guides him to the thief.

Blinking into the dark corners of the alleyway, he is drawn to the light like a moth to a flame.  It is a strange thing, emitting from something small, but shining bright enough to light the cobbled street and the thief that held it.  Only once he is close enough to see the fear in the boy’s eyes, does Azrael realize his pendant emits the glow.

Anger is swift, but it is quickly replaced with curiosity.  While he should express his anger to the thief, he begrudgingly had to admit that his pendant had been made more beautiful, by whatever enchantment was now upon it.  He considers the punishment – for thievery is something not taken lightly by Denocte… but decides instead to take the high road.

“You have what is mine, and it is my right to take you before the citadel for justice… but tonight, I’m feeling gracious.  Tonight, I’ll let you slip into the darkness… but I must caution you…” he steps forward, nipping the pendant away from the boy in one swift movement.  “A second infraction would leave a most unfortunate mark upon you.  Keep your nose clean, boy.” and with that, the thief huddles gratefully away, skirting justice but leaving Azrael with a treasure most curious, nestled back in its place upon his breast.

“Speaking.”