Haze tumbled over the rooftops, his path through the village paved outright in slate and timber. The metaphorical and physical weight of a precious object tugged limply on his side pouch with each footstep - bizzare prism a reminder of his day's work.
It was one of the stranger deliveries of that month - a shining structure of glass, destined for the tabletop of some scientist. Regardless of its destination however, Haze knew only one solid thing about the prism - that his reputation depended on it.
Those months of small jobs and quick deliveries had slowly generated a reputation - a reputation that could easily be lost with just a single moment of shattered glass. If that prism broke, then he would have failed his first ever assignment... The golden reputation that he had honed would merely fade away, as the populace decided that they had been wrong in placing so much faith in him.
Haze continued across the rooftops, his scarf trailing behind him like a lacklustre afterimage.
He had to be nimble and efficient, but most of all, he had to be wary...