Saosan ran down the dirt streets, the rocks and broken things cutting at his bare feet, but he did not care. He needed to get away, away from the guards chasing him so that he would be taken to an orphanage. A cat ran in front of him, coming out from an ally and he almost stepped on it. He knew the ally was a dead end, and didn’t bother for a short cut through it—Nor did he expect to get pulled into it by arms, mouth covered, and forced behind some old, rotten smelling crates. He clawed at the hands to get them away from his mouth, but they stayed there. “You will stay still and quiet unless you want them to catch you!” the voice hissed in his ear. He stopped struggling, realizing that he was helping him. He pulled his legs farther in as the guards ran by, shouting that they had lost him. After they passed, Saosan tried to leave, but was still held down by the man behind him. “Wait a few more, they might come back.” He said, removing his hands from Saosan’s mouth. He quickly turned to see who it was, but he face was hidden in the shadows of a hood, attached to a black cloak. There was something on the chest of the cloak, a family crest he figured, though he couldn’t make it out in the dark. “Why are they after you?” he whispered, straining to hear if they were coming again. “I ran away from the orphanage when I was ten. No body wants you if you’re too old… they only want little kids. I’m not a little kid.” He could feel the eyes staring at him from under the shadows of the hood, so he looked away. “How old are you now?” he asked. “Fourteen. What’s your name anyways?” Saosan asked, tired of talking to a black face with no name. “…Arcanen.” Saosan thought for a moment, knowing that name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “I don’t think they’re coming back. Can I go now?” Saosan asked impatiently. “I guess… but you need to show me a place to sleep.” Saosan looked at Arcanen, confused. “I’m running away.” He added on. “It’s not only you they’re after tonight.” Saosan narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if he should take him or not. “Or I can just turn you into them.” Arcanen threatened. “And doing that would turn you in, wouldn’t it?” Arcanen let out a dry laugh. “You know, you’re a lot smarter then they take you, kids on the street I mean, for.” Saosan made a face at him that he knew Arcanen couldn’t see in the dark. “They?” he echoed back. “…My family—And I’m not telling you any more about me.” Arcanen laughed. “Please, people out here only everyone’s first name—not where they came from, not how they ended up here, all that stuff. Usually if someone asks that, we assume they’re not really from the streets.” Arcanen nodded. “Can you just show me? I’m tired.” Saosan stood up and brushed his feet to get the loose gravel off. “So you’ve been in an orphanage?” Arcanen whispered lowly, following Saosan along a wall. “Yeah, since I was four till I was ten.” Arcanen fought back the urge to ask what had got him there—he couldn’t give himself away this early—one night would make him seem pathetic. “What’s it like?” he asked instead, as they crawled through a small hole in a wall. “Not so good. Family’s only take in little kids, so by the time you hit six, you’re pretty much out of the picture. Not to mention, there’s ten bunks in one tiny room, and the meals are pathetic too—not that the ones out here are any better.” Arcanen looked around in what he guessed was an abandoned building, by the echo of Saosan’s feet on the cold floor. “Why six?” he asked. “Well when you’re younger, you don’t really remember much of anything, so it’s easier to adapt to a new family and surroundings. But when you get older, you don’t really want a new family, nor do you want to be in some under-paid orphanage. The Royal Family keeps all the money they have for themselves—only give the bare minimum for people to get by. Selfish bastards.” Saosan mumbled the last part to himself more than to anyone in particular. Arcanen kept his mouth shut to keep himself from saying that they were not selfish, but after thinking over it, he guess he and his family were. “Here.” Arcanen jumped as a thin, poor excuse for a blanket hit him in the head. “Gets cold at night.” Saosan added on. “Do you have a knife?” Arcanen asked after a while. “Why?” Saosan rolled over onto his side, looking at Arcanen, who then realized that he didn’t have a blanket—there was only one. “I… want to cut the family crest out of my cloak.” Saosan crawled over to the only crate in the bare room, pulled off the lid, and pulled something out. “Its… not that sharp, but I think it can cut through thin fabric.” He crawled over to Arcanen and handed it to him. He began to tear around the stitching of the crest. “…You only have one blanket.” He said as he was half way around it. “I know.”  Saosan replied. “I have my cloak you can have it if you want.” Arcanen offered. “No. You’re obviously used to luxuries, so you can have it.” Arcanen looked up at him in panic thinking he had recognized his name. “What to you mean?” he asked quickly. “Well, you sound educated and—“

“So do you.” Arcanen spat out at him. “That means you’re used to luxuries too?” Saosan leaned threateningly forward. “Where I came from or anything is none of your business. May I remind you—I can probably out run the guards a lot better than you can.” Arcanen pressed his lips into a thin line, not liking being told what to do. “Go to sleep.” Saosan said as he pulled the rusted blade from Arcanen’s hands. Arcanen rolled over onto his side, away from Saosan. He rubbed his thumb over the stitched crest of his family—the gold circle, holding a green tree, surrounded by red, supposed to be the blood they had spilt to get to where they were hundreds of years ago—the Royal Family’s crest. He stuck it in his shirt to hide it—and to hide who he was.