A young boy of less than eight summers should not have to steal to survive. He should not know what it's like to lie awake night after night because it is too cold for sleep. He should not be able to recognize the looks of loathing directed his way, as though he is some detestable vermin or piece of refuse.
But I knew all these things. They quickly became of a painful familiarity, my constant companions. I was not so hardened at this time that I did not feel the accompanying shame, fear, and despair. But I was also old enough to not allow these emotions to keep me from doing what was necessary to survive.
I will not say that I was so very adept to begin with. Loud and clumsy, I would have been caught many a time, had the people of my small town not been so slow and simple-minded. After a time, though, they began to notice small things amiss: a lighter coinpurse, a cellar missing a cellar missing a few apples. And perhaps--though I cannot be certain--they began fitting things together in their minds So I left that place, and was glad of it. I was leaving behind my home and memories, and in a way, everything that remained of my former life.
I passed from town to town over a course of several years. These emotions that had plagued me--fear, loneliness, shame-- became dead and buried within. That is not to say they were replaced with feelings of peace, happiness, and worthiness. They were replaced by nothing. I had at last learned to deaden my senses.
In one particular village, there was a young woman by the name of Vahal. She was some years older than I, and a fledgeling priestess. It was the Light, I suppose, that inspired her to look upon me with pity. I felt this pity was genuine unlike that of everyone who had come before. She didn't seek to comfort through words alone--for what fool cares of Light and Peace and Harmony when he is starving and cold--but rather through material means. Oftentimes she would bring me food or even clothing; I can yet recall her face as she would solemnly say, "You understand, of course, that I cannot give you money. There is no way of knowing what it might be spent on, you see." As if a starving boy would care to have anything but food.
After a time, when my belly was filled and my mind less
desperate, I began refusing the gifts. I told her that I would
no longer accept the charity just to salve her conscience, or so she
could receive special favor in the Church. She would say
nothing to this, and daily the offerings continued. I can't say
why this kindness bothered me, but it did, and I was resolved to stop
it. So one day I informed her: "Vahal, I am a thief.
I steal and lie."
I had intended to
shock her but her knowing smile told me I had not. She asked
why I would tell her this, and I said it was because the church would
not approve of her generosity to me and that she should stop.
To my chagrin she gave me some nice-sounding answer about how the
Light stretches to all, and she was to help all, and a good deal more
that I didn't remember more than two minutes after she told me.
There was something in her voice, however: conviction, one
could call it. It stuck with me, and after that I would neither
refuse the gifts or attempt to frighten her away.
This brief time of relative ease and comparative happiness
soon ended: Vahal was called back to the grand capital city of
Lordaeron for further training or some such. While it is
perhaps true that I felt her absence strongly, the...emotion did not
last long, and I continued about my business. This business, of
course, was necessary in order to live even while it could lead to my
death.
