Haelan struggles, but it's no good. Besides, that sword is almost as big as he is, and he's not keen to anger the woman who looks like she has no trouble wielding it. And cutting off his hands, feet, ears and any other bits she feels like.

"I... er..." He begins, holding his hands up in a sort of shrug. Obviously, they're empty. There's enough little folds and pockets for him to stuff a few coins in his tattered clothing, and any money he's pinched gets squirrelled away as soon as it's in his hands. That way he's far more likely to keep said coins.

"Forgive me, Messere. Just trying to feed all my little brothers and sisters, left as starving orphans, all of us, with no-one to look after us in all the world." He tries, with a practised, mournful voice that plainly indicates he's said the same sort of thing before. Mostly to people who have caught him thieving. "Please Messere, I'll give you back your coin, but I don't know how little Reabeka is going to make it through the night..."