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Ezra kept quiet as he walked down the hall, a few useful things stuffed down his pants. Stolen was a harsh word to use. He preferred unburdened. The mistress he had taken them from didn't need them, she lived in a big enough house to probably not even notice they'd been taken. He felt someone's eyes on him, but let it go. 

He was weak, exhausted from trying to survive this and more than ready for it to be over. Now though, he was focused on patching himself. He got into more than one fight, most recently with the vampire king. He had been scavenging since, moving slowly through houses, he knows his blood is there, that he's easier to track, but he can't stop the bleeding yet. He's in some broken down house that looks like it has been attacked, trying to wrap up a wound when he hears someone approach. He closes the door of the room he's in and waits for them to pass.