Zedefah ran through the streets, his long silvery hair whipping behind him and shining in the moonlight. The shouts of the guards behind him echoed off of the buildings, making it seem as if there were more than Zed had originally thought. As his bag thumped against his back, he turned down an alley, trying his best not to slip because he could break the vials of medicine that could save some of his people. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he turned again, and ran right into someone. Stumbling, he tripped, but turned so that his bag landed on top of him and not under him. In no time flat, the guards were upon him, pointing spears and crossbows his direction but refusing to get too close to him, in case he had the sickness and would spread it to them. "Not sick!" Zed yelled, those two words some of the only Common words he knew. However, that didn't seem to deter the guards as the bravest of them walked to him and attempted to wrestle the bag away from Zed. "No!" he shouted, struggling.