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This is not exactly the outcome they'd prefer -- sent off without even saving so much as a tiny golden ring! -- but from the look on their faces, the Friedrichs suspect that this may be the best outcome they can get. Empty-handed is better than shackled and thrown in the gaol with broken bones! They keep their faces pinched with identical expressions of fear, though Last gives a particular shudder as Careo approaches, on this one subject differing from his twin sib. First had showed sympathy for the little beast; Last looks as if he worries it will suddenly grow sharp teeth and take chunks out of his very soul. Last takes small steps around Patrek, now not seeming to care that he puts himself closer and closer to being within an arm's reach of the guardsman.

And they will comply; First will slacken his grip on the knife and reluctantly give it over, Last will shrug the pack from his shoulders and hold it in his arms, apparently ready to go and deposit it on the stoop right this very moment if it means that he'll let them go.

" .. we won't try anything funny, honest," First promises, making his eyes even bigger and wider. His brother nods fervently in agreement, for all that the both of them are likely swearing Patrek to every hell they know of in their thoughts.

"Y'want I should go put it there now?" Last asks, eyeing Careo warily: he does not want the creature to assume he is trying to escape, and will not move until he's reassured that this will not be the case.

A visible shudder runs through Last, for he likes not the thought of being out of sight with the dangerous creature at his heels. But shooting his twinsib a glance and receiving an encouraging nod in return, he trudges away from Patrek and First, heading out of the alleyway reluctantly. Down to the street he goes, his shoulders hunched, and will if Careo watches lay the bag of stolen goods down at the front gate as he has been bidden. Then he'll turn, wanting to creep out around Careo on the way back, trying obviously to stay out of the little fawn's reach. He doesn't doubt in the least that Patrek can somehow speak to the little beast, whether or not Patrek is in sight -- it's a witch-beast, a terrifying magical creature, and on this particular dark night he's ready to ascribe powers to it that Guardians have never had in even the most fanciful tales.

Meanwhile First watches his brother go as if torn in two, straining just the slightest in his direction: the moment that Last turns the corner and is out of sight, he sags in Patrek's grip as if he is a broken marionette. " .. oh, hells," he murmurs, all the fight spilled out of him; his shoulder aches where he fell, his brother is going to be touchy about Guardians for weeks after this, and if anyone finds out, their reputation is as good as ruined. And if that is not bad enough --

" -- oy, lookee here. Didja find ya a thief, mate? We kin take 'im off yer hands." The voice will come drawling out from behind Patrek, from the opposite direction in which Last and the Guardian have gone. As their shuffling steps bring them forward and the shadows peel back from them, the soldier will find himself faced with a trio of three men far more dangerous than the pair of young thieves -- rough-faced and ill-dressed thugs, wearing knives that make the one First tried to use on Patrek look like little more than a toy.

Should Patrek think that these are some compatriots of the boys, come to rescue them from him, he may revise his estimate if he happens to glance at his captive. First has gone white with fear under his freckles, recoiling from the very sound of the stranger's voice.

Just a few steps ahead of the fawn, Last freezes at the sound of the stranger's voice, a thin shiver working its way up his spine: he is no more comfortable with these men then his brother is. He turns around slowly, as if praying they will not notice him in the shadows far past Patrek. But it's a vain hope; little Careo is a brightly handsome thing, a sliver of moonlight made into something real and solid. They can't miss her, and Last is standing right behind her.

"Aw, but there ain't no need for that, not for a gennelmun like yerself to be muckin' about wit' trash such as these lot." This is one of the other thugs, speaking almost companionably to Patrek, even though there's a dirty, nasty grin stretched across his face. "Happens we knows these lads, yor lordship. We kin take 'em off yor hands."

" .. you can bloody well bugger off, is what!" This sudden outburst is from First, even jerked back against Patrek; his hands have clutched into tight fists, held up in front of him for all the good it will do. Dropping his voice to a much lower pitch, meant to go no further than Patrek's ears, he offers in a conversational whisper: " .. if it's all the same, y'may as well knife me now if you're planning on it, and count on them knifin' you whether or not you give 'em what they want."

"Why, we're ol' frends, ain't we lads? We owes 'em a favor or two." The first man steps forward, one firm step towards Patrek and First, perhaps just to see what Patrek will do. There is a faint rattling as he moves, drawing from his coat pocket a thick length of chain and pulling it taunt between his calloused hands.

"Why, we're pract'ly fambly," another man puts in with a leering grin, as he steps forward behind the first man, chuckling darkly when First bristles at his comment.

"Like hell you are!" First is indignant, anger swiftly overtaking fear; Patrek might want to do something about him if he doesn't want the younger man to outright provoke a fight. "Only thing in your family line is maggots and pigs!"

The three men take another step forward, grinning wider now. They want that fight -- from their expressions, anything that Patrek says or does will only stall it, not prevent it.

"Oh, I imagine he do know what he's saying, don't 'e, boy?" This is said in a much nastier snarl, as the men take another step forward, and then another, and then suddenly they are within reach and neither Patrek nor First have any time left for anything. One of the men reaches for First's shirt, to try and wrest him out of the guardsman's grasp, while the second man pulls back a fist, aiming a hard punch at Patrek's face.

Having made a strangled sound of pure rage when Patrek silenced him, First is frantic to fight back: clawing at the hand twisted in the front of his shirt, kicking out wildly.

Then before the third man can join in the fray, there is mad little growl, so like First's voice that it may shock Patrek to realize that it was not First, after all, but Last -- who cannons in from the side, slamming his shoulder into the third man who even then is in the act of drawing back his own right hook to hit either Patrek or First.

At least if they are out-numbered in this battle, the Freds are mean and desperate fighters, accustomed to being smaller and younger than their opponents and therefore the possessors of any number of nasty tricks. First is somewhat handicapped by Patrek's grip upon his shirt, and stumbles when he is used as something like a shield -- but he does not let it delay him for long, and furthers the momentum by slamming his head up into the face of the man that had been trying to grab his shirt. There is a sharp KRIK that Patrek may well be pleased to hear, as it heralds the breaking of the stranger's nose.

This may buy them a little time, but then there is the man trying to punch Patrek, who misses by only a hair -- almost literally, Patrek can feel the breeze as his fist passes by -- and then turns his punch into a clumsy grasp, trying to get a fistful of Patrek's hair or collar to twist it painfully so that he can be held still for a proper blow.

Meanwhile Last is grappling with the third man, who is casually tossing him about and giving him in the process what will undoubtably become an impressive series of bruises: this stranger has obvious contempt for him, and is just trying to get him out of the way so that he can get to Patrek. In the process of kicking Last away from himself, he has the time to glance around.

"Oy! Lookit here, s'a goat, mates, they gots a damn goat follering them around!" His voice is rough and gravelly and slow, and as he snickers to himself he pulls a knife loose from his belt, stalking towards Careo while Last is still struggling to get to his feet.

The fellow chasing Careo barks a laugh, and will try to herd the fawn towards his companion, the thug with the broken nose and tearing eyes. But Last, perhaps without ever really knowing why, scrambles to his feet and charges them, giving them something else to deal with besides one tiny 'goat.' This will result in blood being drawn, when they trip him up and try to pin him to the ground by way of a dagger through his pantleg -- and, from the sound of his strangled yelp, through some of his flesh as well.

Meanwhile, holding onto a fistful of Patrek's hair, the thug directly in front of the guardsman decides that his best choice is to aim his punch for the other man's throat -- with Patrek's squirming meaning that it has as good a chance of landing there as landing at the joint of neck and shoulder. Either location would be a painful blow, and (the thug hopes) silence his opponent into breathless wheezing, for he does not approve of all the shouting that Patrek's doing.

"Shut yer yap!" The first blow will follow with a second, a third, as many he can get in before First is there, careening into him from the side, knocking him off of Patrek and freeing up the Guardsman to recover. But this comes at a cost for First, who Patrek will see is also bleeding: his clever head-butt to the other man earned him a jagged gash from that fellow's teeth across his forehead.