Snippet #2381705

The city was full of strangers. They filled the shops and the houses, the streets and the skies; they were a mass of unknown entities that swarmed around her in the streets, a blur of strange shapes and smells and faces that cried and smiled and shouted. The sheer number of strangers that pressed around her each day had the enormity of the sky, vast and incomprehensible. Their nameless faces merged together, individuality replaced by the crowd.

Suddenly, Kip found that the outcome of the next few minutes of her life had become dependent on the actions of one of these strangers. When he yelled, she nearly jumped to her feet and ran away at that instant. He walked away, though, so Kip remained in her hiding spot and waited to make sure all eyes had turned away. She was already posed to leave when the fish-seller returned. She appraised him defensively, her body coiled and taught, ready to spring at the slightest provocation.

If before he hadn't understood why she was hiding, or who she was hiding from, she wasn't going to take the chance that he soon wouldn't. Gingerly, she used her skirt to protect her hands from the heat as the crust of the bread broke with a satisfying crunch and she tore the roll in half.

"Take this, please," she said, thrusting the bread at the fish-seller. Steam rose from the fluffy interior, and Kip's stomach stabbed her with a pang of hunger. "Just don't tell them I'm here." She would have to deal with worse than hunger if she was caught for her crime. Prison was a dangerous place for anyone.