They'd started tracking him not long after he left Luca. Really, they'd tracked him for longer than normal, gut twisting in an unpleasant way, and not just from hunger. Something told them he knew. But they hadn't eaten in days, nothing substantial, and they needed food.

They'd taken advantage of his pause to move a little ahead of him. And now they-

-Stepped out, knife ready in their hand.

Zveran drew a knife of his own, eyes narrowed at the person. What sort of a mask was that? 

“Step aside. I am a summoner on pilgrimage.”

-They wouldn't be dissuaded. (They were shaking, slightly, from exhaustion, and lack of food.)

(And what had Yevon ever done for them?)

They darted forward - they're quick, and good, and they're aiming more for Zveran's pack than Zveran himself.

Zveran is no slouch with a short sword.

He parries the move and side steps, twirling to face his attacker (who seemingly did not want to strike him? Odd).

They stumble at the move, but keep their feet with a slight headshake, before diving back towards him, aiming low. (A killer was more likely to be hunted down than a lone thief, but they needed to eat.)

Zveran blocks low, twists the knife upwards and then sweeps his attacker's legs in one swift move.

They go down, with surprisingly little noise, just the sound as hitting the ground forces the air out of their lungs. They start to scramble backwards. (They've been bested before, and it's never been good. Always been pain. And they've survived, but...)

"You've not faced someone of talent before, have you?"

-It's not wise, but they swear at him in place of an answer.

"And you didn't move to strike me when you had the advantage. Something tells me you don't want to kill."

They growl. Then relent a little. "Murder catches attention." They'd learned that.

"True enough. You start down that road and you become quite noticeable. What then, pray tell, was your plan?"

Shrug.

He could go. He could keep walking, leaving this person to terrorise others. 

But he couldn't. 

Instead he swung his pack off, and offered it to the person. "Whatever you want out of that you can have. I can replenish at the next temple."

-does he think they're an idiot? Even with the mask the sceptical look is plain.

He tosses the pack at their feet.

They stare at him. "I'm not going to pay you back." (There's a definite innuendo to the idea of paying him back.)

"Wouldn't dream of asking you." He means in every sense of that.

"Screw you," they mutter and push themself to their feet. They're not taking anything. There's always a price and they're in no shape to fight, not someone skilled.

"You don't seem in a position to refuse free food."

They aren't. They really aren't. And yet...

"I won't make you promises, you don't know me. But I won't move a muscle unless you come at me again."

"Why?"

“Because you’re shaking with exhaustion. You’re hungry. I have supplies, so I can help.”

They shake their head, tired and confused and just...done. "You don't make sense. I try to rob you and you-"