The Heart of a Thief: Once a Theif, Always a Theif

Chapter 1: Once A Thief, Always A Thief

She chuckled under her breath as she donned yet another piece of stolen jewelry.  The strung orbs of sapphire looked a bit out of place over her brown fingerless glove, but she'd learned to live with being a bit mismatched.

Actually, she liked her style.  Almost everything she was wearing was stolen, out of the trunk of some unsuspecting noble, the clothes line of some naive townsperson, or taken from the satchel of another nomad.
But that was the life of a thief.

And this mixed-and-matched attire was part of it.  Some of her silk wrappings and sparkling jewelry she wore solely because she felt pride in them.  After all, being a cunning, agile, silent-as-the-night thief was no easy task.

She got up from her squatting position to sit down on the velvet seat and twisted her wrist slowly back and forth, admiring her new accessory as it glittered in the sun filtering through the carriage window.  She knew that stealing was often frowned upon, but a girl's got to make a living.  And if some idiot wants to leave their ride unlocked and full of precious trinkets, then why not take the opportunity?  And the trinkets?
She barely had time to open the next box of no-doubt valuable items when the door flew violently open.  "Stop, thief!"

A heavy, leather-clad arm reached into the carriage, but she was all to familiar with escape.

Tucking the box that she was holding under her arm, she dove out of the opposite window and rolled across the dirt ground, coming to a halt on her knees.

She snatched up her head, flipping her hair over to her back.  Seeing now that there were several miscellaneous body guards and soldiers on her trail, she leapt to her feet and sped off into the woods, cradling the box in her arms.
She looked over her shoulder and watched as the men following her disappeared somewhere in the increasingly large space of ground and trees between them.

There was barely enough time for her to laugh triumphantly when a muscular arm reached out in front of her line of escape and grabbed her around the waist.  She dropped the contents of her arms out of shock as she gasped and was lifted off the ground.
The arm that had grabbed her before was wrapped tightly around her waist, another around her shoulders, pinning her to the chest of a tall, stocky man.

She struggled and grunted, "Put me down, you overgrown slab of meat!"

As she continued to kick and wriggle, another man emerged from behind a tree, holding a long, curved dagger in his hand.  His black mantle covered only part of the rest of his dark garb, and his face was completely in view.  One eye (or lack thereof) was covered by an eyepatch, the other, gray-irised and bulging a touch, looking at the girl with an intense, crazed glare.  Under his crooked, rotten-toothed smile, there was a tiny brown line of facial hair.

"You're too kind, you know," the man said, motioning for a third man, slightly smaller than the one holding her but bigger than their leader, to come and pick up the jewel-crested box, "We owe much of the credit for our riches to you, young lady."

"I owe you another empty eye socket, Trivel!" she threatened as she continued to try to break free.

Trivel removed his hood with one hand and held up his long blade to her neck, making her stop her struggle.  "Is that the way you want to play it, then?  I'll tell you, that was the last time you steal from me!"

She knew, of course, that he was referring to the time two days ago that she snuck into his camp and stole all his food.  Not to mention his case of gold coins, which he hadn't even had time to count.  But now that that was at the bottom of some river...
But that wasn't the first time.  She couldn't help it if she was a better thief than Trivel, and that he so often left his treasures out in the open.  He was practically begging for her to come take them.  Of course, now that she knew that he had acquired a few goons, no doubt to do the dirty work, she would probably watch where she stepped from then on.
He brought his dagger uncomfortably close to her neck, "You won't get away this time, you know.  Now that you no longer have the upper hand, I'm going to ensure that it stays that way."

The girl tried desperately to think of a plan to get herself out of her current situation, but looked over Trivel's shoulder curiously as the soldiers that had been following her, not moments before, called to one another as they continued in their pursuit.

"Hey!" she shouted in their direction, "Come get me!"

Twenty some-odd pairs of footsteps thundered across the ground as the men all went to catch her.  Trivel and his pair of strongmen looked up in horror as the men grew increasingly close with their own weapons.

In the moment of pause, the girl jerked herself forward, causing the man holding her off the ground to step that much closer to Trivel.

She swung her leg up as high as she could and kicked him squarely in the temple, leading him to land in a heap on the ground.  Once he was down, she twisted around, forcing the biggest to sidestep to keep his balance.  But where there should have been solid ground was a drop off a few inches tall.
He fell, and the girl rolled out of his arms and landed on the bank of a small river in a crouch.  The third one that had assisted in her almost-capture was already being taken care of by the guards, so she took off in a sprint.
She ran through the water, since it was only ankle-deep, and she would leave no footprints that way.

She kept on running, hearing each brief splash as she took another step. The only other noticeable sound was that of the voices of the soldiers fading into the distance.

Feeling out of breath, she paused and bent forward to rest her hands on her knees. After she had finished gasping and wheezing for air, she strained her ears to try to hear any trace of her enemies' voices.

Hearing none, she straightened back out and stepped out of the water. She sat down in the shade of a tree, leaving her feet exposed to the sun in order to dry.

She rested her head against the thick trunk of the tree to look up into the emerald leaves. But from were she sat, She could see the bottom of a paper that had been nailed to the tree. Out of curiosity, she reached up and pulled the paper down to eye level.
In the center of the paper was an ink drawing of her face.

Isabella: Thief. WANTED dead or alive. REWARD.

Isabella laughed and crushed the paper between the palms of her hands before tossing it over her shoulder.

She then stood, just long enough to pluck an apple from the tree.

She sat back down and took a bite of the crisp, red fruit.  She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, since the apple was more juicy than she thought it would be.

After Isabella had finished chewing and swallowed, she stopped and listened to the woods around her.  That was another habit that, as a thief, she had developed.  It was always safest to check every once in a while, make sure that there wasn't someone trying to sneak up on her.
She heard, from what she estimated was only a few yards.  Once she had put the bitten apple into one of her many pouches she carried, she clambered up the tree and waited in silence, hid in the leaves and watched the ground intently.
A figure that she could scarcely see crawled across the ground underneath her.  From the sound of it, whoever it was seemed to be suffering from some injury, since they didn't bother to keep very quiet.  Not only was their dragging themselves across the brambly ground not cautious in any way, they would occasionally let out a pained groan, which wasn't exactly stealthy itself.

Isabella gently moved a branch out of her line of vision, still being careful to not draw any attention to herself.

But upon seeing this unfortunate figure, she realized that she could have fallen out of the tree in to the person's lap and all he would do was loose consciousness.

He was tall and lanky, with skinny limbs and a build that could in no way, shape, or form be classified and 'heavy' or 'broad'.  His chest was rapidly moving up and down and he struggled to breath, but his face was covered by a black cloth mask.
What she could see of his face, even with the mask, made Isabella wonder what he hoped to hide.  It wasn't every day that someone ran into a young man with a triangular head.  And that sprig of flaming red hair with the single blue streak wasn't really a common thing to see, either.
Aside from his normal appearance, he was covered in various cuts and bruises.  There was a fair-sized gash on right wrist, a rope burn (or something along the lines of one) around his left wrist, a nasty-looking cut on the upper part of his left leg, and a spot on the side of his torso that, when he would accidentally brush with his arm, would cause him to gasp in pain.
There were a few spots of torn cloth and small cuts just above his knees, and so many bruises that he looked like he had spilled watered-down ink on himself.

Isabella, as silently as she could, climbed down the opposite side of the tree.  Whoever had done this to him couldn't be that far behind, and she didn't want to come across them herself.
But as she reached the bottom of the wide trunk, she noticed the young man's weapons.  She peeked around the tree and saw that he had closed his eyes.  The poor thing was probably going to die, so she figured he wouldn't be needing that masterly-crafted wooden bow and quiver full of arrows.
Knowing that even if he wasn't going to die, he wasn't going to be able to put up any kind of fight, Isabella stepped around the tree and took the bow from his hand.

His eyes opened the instant the weapon had left his weak grasp, and he twitched slightly, as if he was trying to move but couldn't.

Paying no heed to the fact that he was awake and watching himself be robbed, Isabella slipped the strap holding his quiver on his back over his head and slung it over her own shoulder.

"You can't–" the boy sat up a little and reached forward with one hand, causing him to cringe and clutch his side, which only made him let out a weak cry of pain, he gasped, "Give them back!"

Isabella stood up and looked down at the redhead.  "Can you draw a bowstring in your state?"

He simply laid back on the tree and looked up at her pitifully.  He wished that it wouldn't hurt so much just to stand up.  It was so pathetic to beg, but his bow was all he had.

But in reply to her inquiry, he just shook his head.

"Didn't think so.  Now, if you'll excuse me."

"No please, you don't understand–"

Isabella turned around and began to walk away.  "If you don't die, I hope to see you again."

The young man pushed himself off the tree with one hand.  He shakily got to his feet and tried to stop Isabella, "I'm begging you, don't take my bow."

Isabella turned around once more and faced the stranger.  She couldn't help but smirk as she said, "How do I know this isn't even yours?  You could have stolen it."

His expression became serious as he stated, "I'm no thief."

He peeled off his mask, revealing his face, which was also bruised and scraped.  "My name is Phineas, and I am no thief.  I have no reason to stoop to such a level.  All I do is live in the woods.  I make an honorable living for myself.  Never once have I stolen a thing, much less from someone who I knew couldn't resist me."

Isabella was a bit taken aback.  She had never had anyone refer to her life as a thief as lowly or dishonorable.  Not only that, but when Phineas had pulled off his mask, she could have sworn that she felt her heart skip a beat.

She shook her head and tried to gather her thoughts.  She looked down at the bow in her hand.  Before she could say anything, Phineas' eyes rolled back as he fell, unconscious, on the forest floor.

For the first time in her life, she felt guilty.  But what could possibly make this stolen piece of equipment any different from everything else?  What was it about Phineas that made her have second thoughts?

Phineas opened his eyes slightly and groaned, trying to roll over.  But as he put his weight on his injured side, he yelped once and curled up into ball, holding his side and shutting his eyes tight.

Isabella quickly went to his side and helped him roll over onto his back.  She was suddenly flushed with worry, setting Phineas' bow and quiver down next to him.  "Don't worry, I'll get you some help," she promised.

She stood up once again and started towards the road that she knew was somewhere nearby, since it deviated from the strait that she had escaped from earlier.  After taking a few steps in the direction that she thought was correct, she blinked once as she realized what she had just said.

She swivelled around, pointed to Phineas and said sharply, "Don't think that this means we're working together."

"I'd never work with a thief," Phineas agreed weakly.

Isabella brushed one piece of ribbon-wrapped hair behind her shoulder.  Nodding once, she turned back towards the road and began to weave in and out of the thick foliage.

All she could think about was Phineas, and how she need to get help for him.  She remembered Phineas taking of his mask, and tried to imagine Phineas draw his bowstring back, even though he wasn't even strong enough to stand erect at the moment.  What would Phineas say, she wondered, after she had gotten the help.  Would he be grateful?  What would she say if he insisted on staying in her company afterwards?
Then she caught herself smiling.  She felt her cheeks start to burn red as she growled at herself and shook her head.  Once a thief, always a thief, she reminded herself.  And a thief is a loner.  I don't need anyone, and no one needs me.
Except Phineas, of course.  But as soon as he had help, he was out of her hands, and out of her life.  For good.