An unpleasant gurgle splurged from Ivette’s depths, far louder than any apprehension could’ve. 

It was official; she needed somewhere to sit, and something to eat. Who knew how many miles she’d walked today after all? 

Unsheathing her knife, she wiped it against her hip, and held it against the fire’s glowing embers for a few moments.  It’d be pretty ironic if she made it through being shrunken down and abandoned in the forest, to die from an infection or something.

Her knife was blackening from smoke, but that was the lesser of the evils. Creeping closer to the sleeping thief - and the mangled goat thigh in her hand - Ivette held her knife prone, as if it was going to do anything to a normal sized person, but it never heard to be safe.

The ground didn’t even rustle underfoot, she was that small, but the sleeping bandit was stirring and snuffling, as if she could sense the tiny intruder. It made sense, Ivette supposed. There was no greater embarrassment for a thief than getting robbed.

Even if it was a slither of goat meat.

Pinching at the greasy mound to find the least bitten bit, Ivette delicately, gently started chiselling a strip of it away. It was as if fate had a grudge tonight however;

”N-no.” The bandit muttered in her sleep, snatching the goat thigh away. Ivette’s arm was practically removed from its socket as she went with the thigh, but her knife slipped away, disappearing into the undergrowth.

”…fuck!” She whispered, desperately close to sensitive bandit ears. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfu-“

But her creative monologue was interrupted, as the bandit began sniffing at the meat in her hand. With a giggle and a flash of teeth, she