A-in's shoulders rose and tightened, his gaze sharpened into a cold glare as it darted toward the man who confronted them. The fellow's build was more formidable than any A-in had ever seen and taller than all present, his posture recalling the proud pillars of Ra's temple. Yet where those pillars held dignity, this man held only deceit and mischief.
The man grinned.
"Hand over those crops, and we shall let you go." He demanded.
"We apologize," Fabian replied calmly, "but these crops belong to us. We have no reason to give them away."
"As soon as you stepped into our territory," the man declared, "everything you carry now belongs to us."
"The streets belong to everyone," Fabian answered, "and none may claim dominion over them, not even the homeless. I cannot understand demands for ownership when you possess nothing."
The man burst into laughter, joined by his henchmen. A-in and the others frowned, their brows knitting together, closer and sharper than before. Their hands tightened upon the edges of their carts, drawing them closer as they braced themselves. Their senses sharpened, for they felt what was soon to follow.
The laughter faded, and the man's eyes darkened.
"I had hoped to settle this matter peacefuly," he growled, "but it seems you intend to be troublesome. You are no god to defy a mortal's demand." His teeth clenched. "Seize them! Take the crops! And if they resist…you know what to do."
A-in's eyes widened. He stumbled backward as the henchmen surged forward, grinning wickedly as they swung their blades through the air, there was a hint of warning.
Fabian cast a quick glance at A-in and the other two.
"Take your sacks and run!"
They released their grip on the carts, seized the sacks, and fled, each racing in a different direction.
"Do not let them escape!" The man roared.
A-in darted into a narrow alley. It was dark, but the moonlight piercing through the clouds gave him enough sight to navigate the way ahead. Behind him echoed the rapid footsteps of pursuit, pushing him to run faster.
The moment reminded him of his escape from the prison, of the desperate fight for a freedom long denied. But this time, he ran to protect something given to him, something he had earned.
He could not understand why he clung to the crops when his life outweighed any worldly good. He could have surrendered them. He could have kept himself safe. He could even now be walking the road back to Memphis.
Yet still he ran, burden in hand.
But these crops were earned by me. I worked for them, not as a slave, but as a man who chose to labor of his own will.
Perhaps that was the truth of it. Once bound in chains, he had labored for an owner, now, he labored for himself. This burden was proof of his own will.
A-in's breath grew ragged. His arms tightened around the sack as his knees weakened beneath him. Exhaustion pressed heavily upon him. They had been traveling for too long, only to find themselves running once more, this time from thieves.
"Stop being stubborn and get over here, damn it!" A voice shouted behind him, closer than before.
A-in forced himself onward, though his legs trembled, sweat running down his neck. Ahead he saw the dark silhouettes of trees marking the end of the alley, a small forest, perhaps. If he could reach it, he might lose his pursuer within its shadows.
But he hissed as a sharp sting tore through his waist, a piercing pain he recognized all too well. He had felt such pain before, when Jura had once punished him with a blade.
His knees finally collapsed beneath him. He fell to his knees, gasping, clutching at his waist where the weapon had struck him from behind. His fingers found blood.
Footsteps approached, slow, deliberate, and halted just behind him.
"The prey," a voice said, low with triumph, "has been caught."