Groping for his other weapon, he spotted them both lying in the street. "Hey, you!" The man reached for his dagger, and surprise filled his face when he found it missing. His eyes widened when he noticed the purse in Mince's hand. He was a large, soft man with saddlebag cheeks reddened by the cold. Run! the voice inside his head screamed as he realized there was a heartbeat, perhaps two, before his victim- The merchant turned. Mince did not breathe or move as the entire span of his ten disappointing years flashed by. Like a hissing snake, the leather strap slithered off the fat man's belly, dragged to the cobblestones by the weight of his weapons. Instead of purse strings, he had sliced through the merchant's belt. It took only an instant for Mince to realize his mistake. Sawing back and forth, he felt the purse come loose, but something was not right. In a moment of desperation, Mince pushed caution aside.
The thought was insane, but his empty stomach won the battle over reason. With his hands still under the merchant's cloak, he waited. A third failure meant they would bar him from another meal-Mince was too hungry to let go. He knew the pickpocket's creed allowed for only a single touch and had dutifully slipped into the crowd after two earlier attempts. Failing to cut the merchant's purse strings, he froze with one hand still cupping the bag. Some people are skilled, and some are lucky, but at that moment Mince realized he was neither.
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