A petty thief, you steal only enough to stay alive. A missing necklace? Or maybe some silverware?, you keep your profile low selling off meager goods for meager pay. That is until a walk through town center lands you directly on a the sheriffs radar. He approaches with purpose in his step

he's been tracking you for a while, the string of small thefts occupying his thoughts when other more significant cases have been wrapped up

Heavy pockets there? His voice rings out from behind you, in a moment fear scores across your back hotter then the dessert sun. Just like that he's on you.

No moving, no running, you've got a holding cell with your name on it. His eyes seem golden in the afternoon lighting, burning into you above his tawny muzzle

ya' got a name?