Clayr of Sarem

Clayr ducked low, squeezing himself down into a tiny crouch. A stack of crates shield his body from line of sight but the night watch of Sarem is renowned for their dogged persistence. His hands tremble as they pull his cloak tightly down over his head. Each breath is a silent struggle, his chest compressed to the maximum. Beads of sweat flow down his face, wetting Clayr's collar. When the thrumming of his heartbeat recedes from his ears, the young man can hear heavy footsteps and the jingling of metal links.

A call from down the alley, "He's not over here. I'm headed this way", there's a brief silence where Clayr assumes the gaurd is pointing before the noises continue.

"Okay", pipes in a less masculine voice. "I'll check down this way. Remember, he can be very dangerous. Signal if'n theres even a chance you see em".

Clayr hears one set of footfalls leave down some other city street. A single person is trotting down the narrow alley towards him. The crates he remains cradled behind are about half the distance to the end of the alley. At the very back there is a large pile of rubbage and an excellent spot to hide. He had taken the chance that whatever guardsman pursued him might overlook his position in favor of haste to apprehend him.

The thief fingers through his thoughts, coming up with options. He could stay hidden hoping to remain unnoticed so that he might slip back the way he came or ambush the guard and hope to incapacitate them before they can cry out. Either way would be risky and both have their appeals.