"This way! She can't have gotten far!" "I don't get paid enough to chase street rats!" Lips pursued, chest tight, held breath - Rae's back was pressed against the city's outer wall, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to listen for oncoming footsteps, yet nothing could be louder than her pounding heart. That was too close, came her thoughts, filling in for the chiding her mother would have laid into - if she were here. But she wasn't - no one from the caravan was, and the struggle of today proved just how ready Rae was to travel on her lonesome. A clumsy robber, impatient pick pocket, unable to even dance for the simplest pay, resonated a gruff voice within her mind, and to that auditory recollection she sighed, wondering if this was a stupid idea to begin with. Chaaaar, a small hand prodded at the young woman's chin, beckoning attention. Innocent eyes a deep azure inquired whether or not they'd be proceeding, to which Rae cracked a smile lacking authenticity and she nodded, "Now that we're out of the town, we can keep going, don't worry." Peering up for the first time since she'd slipped past the gates, however, the brunette was yet again weighed down by the intimidation that came with such a vast land before her. With such craved freedom came the responsibility of survival, something the caravan knew well and managed in a cluster, but on her own, she was hardly able to prove herself more than the alleged street rat. It was one thing to be inside the security of an unwelcoming town, but out on the roads by her lonesome? That was a different kind of risk. Societal negligence to her kind was almost a way of life adjusted to - but out there, where you learn that humans can be worse than a territorial ursaring - she dreaded the thought of traversing by herself, independence wasn't how the story books portrayed it to be. As voices seemed to be regrouping nearby the city's entrance, the brunette pushed off the wall with a sigh, "Apparently one can't even sit here and dread." She edged away from the city's skirts, side bag jingling against her hip in a melodic sense. Within were her funds - some offered by her make shift family, another portion accumulated through immoral means. While spending the night within the city she'd managed to swipe a few things, mostly bits of silver, chains and light weight coins, "Nothing they'd miss. It sits in their pockets, their chests, their little boxes, accumulating, growing stale - a display, instead of a provision. At least that's what I see."