#*closedstarter

Farkas wouldn’t have noticed the pickpocket at all if a passing guard hadn’t called out.

“Hold! What are you doing?” The guard’s face was covered by a helmet but Farkas knew the man. Not by name, but in the way you get to know everyone after living in a city for long enough. Whiterun was full of people Farkas knew without knowing. That’s how he knew that this particular guard was a little too enthusiastic about his duty.

Farkas stepped in between the guard and the thief. “Stand back. I’ve got this,” he assured him.

“Are you sure? I—”

“I’ve got this. Go.”

The guard hesitantly went back to his patrol, and Farkas turned on the thief. He help out a hand, palm up.

Farkas waited in the softly falling snow. He was long past the age of catching snowflakes on his tongue. Inviting the cold inside was never a good idea, no matter how Farkas enjoyed its company. No, he most certainly did not catch snowflakes on his tongue. If Mya noticed him closing his mouth rather quickly when she approached, well that had to have been a yawn didn’t it?

Farkas nodded a greeting. No need for formality. Some people did need that, or at least they wanted to need it. They wanted words and titles to tell them who to follow. Farkas didn’t really understand the fuss about it all. He’d follow people he trusted and people who trusted him would follow him. Simple enough. He trusted Mjadveig enough to follow her, but liked her enough not to mention it.