Submission (#1143) Approved

The marketplace is bustling. 

Watching the crowds is one of Sawyer’s favorite things to do when he has the time and none of the gang feels up for an adventure. Today’s not about watching, though, and Sawyer watches the merchants as they try to entice passersby into viewing their wares as the peruse the various stalls. 

Most of the stalls are the kind that look easy to disassemble and assemble again; four posts pushed deep into the sand and reinforced with some stones around them, tarp strung across the posts to create a tent like look and provide shade from the always overbearing desert sun. Some sort of ‘table’ to display whatever goods they’re selling. Some of them use crates with cloth draped over it for presentation, others have actual small tables that they’ve constructed for the market. 

He’s spent a few days this week scouting out the stalls, taking mental notes of what each one is selling so that when he makes his move, he’ll draw the least attention to himself.

Hopefully. 

He’s never done a heist without someone else before and the prospect of a solo adventure is exciting! But also nerve wracking.

He wishes that Fai had accompanied him while also being grateful that the paler kit isn’t there to watch him fumble. 

Even hidden in the shade, crouched behind some old crates lined against a now empty stall on the outskirts of the market(this merchant had sold all their wares for the day, packed up and left until tomorrow already), Sawyer can feel the heat of the sun bearing down. Sand’s hot beneath his paws, which he shifts now and again to relieve them, and when he’s certain that no one is watching him--- he lets his tongue loll from his mouth when he pants.

A breeze rolls over that he’s grateful for, until his nose twitches and he realizes that it brought the aroma of freshly cut melon his direction. His mouth waters with Sawyer straightening up so he can look for the source from his hiding spot. Blue eyes skip over the stalls in his line of view, his mind shifting through his mental notes to try and determine where the fruit stall might be, but despite his efforts he can’t find the source of the smell through the ebb and flow of the crowd. 

Maybe it was from one of the nearby buildings. The inn’s doors have opened and left an indented scrape in the sand as the innkeeper peaks out. 

Shaking his head, Sawyer tries to focus. 

The sun will be setting soon and that’s when he needs to strike. And he’s overheating now, but he’ll be grateful for his mane and fluff once the sun sets and the desert’s chill sweeps through the oasis town they’ve taken residence in. He’s aiming to make it back to the hideout shortly after sunset. 

They’ve got to prepare their meal before they can all settle down to eat so being timely is important. He thinks. 

His butt wiggles when he crouches low to the ground, belly sliding across the sand when he creeps forward. Every now and again he’ll look this way and that, darting between gaps in the crowd and beneath tables he thinks he can get away unnoticed underneath. His belly curls with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, if he didn’t do things just right-- if he got caught -- not only would someone have to come bail him out but they’d be out his contribution to their feast and he’s been working on it for a while. 

Despite his scouting it still takes him a while to find the right stall and he can see the melons he’s hoping to swipe laid out at the edge of the table’s display along with some fruit he doesn’t recognize. It’s an orangeish color, looks a little spiky but also interesting. He thinks he’s seen it growing on some of the cacti before. 

Maybe...if he’s sneaky enough he can grab a melon and one of those weird fruits. 

He paused in his advance, ears flattening against his skull when the merchant seemed to turn towards him. His heart was a flutter in his chest, drumming against his ribcage and he could feel the antsy way his tail flicked behind him. 

Sawyer’s been working up to this for weeks, careful watching and planning so that when the crew wanted to do the feast he knew exactly what fruit he wanted for the concoction he intended to make. All the preparation didn’t make it any less nerve-wrecking for the poor kittom. 

If anything, it upped the stakes. 

His opportunity to strike comes quickly. A potential patron approaches the stall, distracting the vendor just long enough for Sawyer to slip up to the makeshift table and swipe one of the strange spiky and orange fruits. He had just passed it over to the small pomu who was underfoot and ducked low when the merchant turned his way. 

The melon still needed to be snagged and he forced himself to be very, very still, grateful that his yellow-y pelt gave him a tiny bit of camouflage. Luckily, the potential patron had stolen the vendor’s attention and Sawyer was able to swipe the melon, carefully holding it between his teeth, and make his escape. 

By the time he was noticed, both he and his pomu were long gone, disappearing around the corner of one of the stone buildings just as a loud, “Hey!” could be heard. 

Making it back to the hideout wasn’t too difficult, though Sawyer’s ears twitched with every sudden noise to keep him on his toes. Once he was safely inside, he set to work on crafting his contribution to the gang’s feast. 

He sat with the melon between his hindlegs, cutting into the top so he could both scoop out and mash the insides until they’re a nice, pulverized juicy texture. Cutting into the spiky fruit is harder than he expects but he’s pleased to find that it’s sweet and that it’s filled with juice he can easily tip into his melon. 

Sawyer can even cut chunks of the spiky fruit and add them to the juice too. 

All in all, he’s quiet proud of his punch which he carries to the rooftop of their hideout to join the others as they all spread out their contributions. Sawyer had even gone so far to save some of the melon rind to lay out next to his punch and put some of the leftover chopped spiky fruit on top. The speckled white disformed cubes look nice against the pink to green of the rind and he felt pretty proud of his display. 

The rest of the feast makes his mouth water. 

There’s curry rice with star fruit, some sort of meat kabob, more fruit. Sawyer knows that there are no bad options and that he’s going to have quite the full belly for the night. 

He may never have to eat again with how he plans to gorge himself. 

Drinking the punch leaves his cheeks a rosy color, makes him a little more giggly than he is normally, but there’s nothing more enjoyable than hanging out with the gang and watching the storms to the north as they eat. 

His tail wraps around his paws as he chews and Sawyer lets his gaze drift across the landscape as it stretches out before him. The dark storm clouds are at the furthest point, strikes of lightning brightening the sky now and again, and in the bright flashes he can take in the way the sand dunes rise and fall, the shapes and swirls as they dip down and rise again. How cacti pepper the sands, some of the spiky fruit he'd stolen blossoming from tips, and how night has just fallen across the desert of Ahza. 

It's the perfect view and Sawyer doesn't think he could want or ask for a better end to his night.